Chicken Soup for the Drabbler's Soul
by paschiel
Summary: Written for the 100 Days, 100 Drabbles Challenge on the DG Forum. Various characters, prompts, scenes, settings, emotions, etc.. Written purely for the fun of a good challenge.
1. New

**New  
Written for the 100 Days, 100 Drabble Challenges  
...O...**

Neville Longbottom shuffled through the streets of Diagon Alley, head bent low and, for once, lost in thought. He had decided that his wand was the reason for his problems. It was what had caused him to be such a failure in the eyes of his grandmother and it was why he couldn't work his magic correctly.

Ollivander had said that the wand chooses the wizard, but this had been a wrong match. How could this wand be right for him if everytime he used it he destroyed something? Or was it really just _him _and his grandmother was right- that he wasn't a good wizard. Who was he fooling? He knew he wasn't a good wizard. He was a dreadful one. Horrible. But maybe getting this new wand would fix that. It would make his problems disappear and for once he could get good at magic. Neville knew it.

He jerked his head up at the last moment to keep from colliding with a low store sign and then shuffled up the steps into Ollivander's. There he was met with a hot blast of air and the smell of lemon. There was a swivel chair in the corner and a small sofa. Nothing had changed since he had entered the shop years ago to purchase his original, faulty wand.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Longbottom...Cherry and unicorn hair, twelve inches."

Neville hopped back and forth from foot to foot, feeling uncomfortable. "Yes. Well, I...You see, I need...I need a new wand." He stammered out, staring at the floor again and hating himself for it.

"Have you broken yours?"

"N-no."

"Then I see no reason for you to have a new one. The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Longbottom. Your wand is made for you. It is what can get you to the height of your magical ability. Any other wand would cripple you," Ollivander said, managing to not raise his voice higher than a whisper and Neville still heard every word. He felt his heart sinking. If this was the height of his magical ability with the best wand for him, then what hope did he have?

But Ollivander wasn't done. "I know you struggle, but your parents did too. And they were two of the best wizards I have ever had the pleasure to meet...Now shoo. You don't need a new wand."

And then Neville left, thinking that, sometimes, old was better than new.

…**O...**

_A/N: Criticize. Please. This was edited and shaved down a lot to make it 400 words (not including author's notes and titles). Was it okay? I was slightly rushed. I give thanks to my beta, Aventine Hill.  
You've read. Now review._

_Word Count: 398. Including A/N and title: 458 (going by OpenOffice Word Count)  
-DES_


	2. Broken

**Chicken Soup for the Drabbler's Soul**

**Chapter Two: Broken**

**Enjoy.**

**...O...**

Broken. Neville Longbottom was broken. Or his spirit was. Why couldn't he just be better at everything? Why couldn't he be like his parents and be good at magic? Better yet, why couldn't he be good at _something_? Anything?

But he couldn't. He knew it, his teachers knew it, and above all, his grandmother knew it. She knew that he was a failure and would never amount to anything more than a bartender at some rundown pub. She had said that much.

He just didn't understand. Why couldn't he be good at something? Why couldn't he be decent enough at _something _to not be considered a failure? His parents were both great witches and wizards. They had been in the Order of the Phoenix, and they had fought Bellatrix. He was proud to be their son, but if they had lived to see how he had turned out, would they be proud of him? _That_ was the only question that mattered to him.

Neville looked down at the letter in his hand, addressed to him in the bold, black penmanship of his grandmother. The letter had started off like it normally did—pestering him about his grades and leaving his stuff at home, getting gradually worse. His grandmother had told him, like she normally did, that he wouldn't amount to anything next to his parents. And then she had ranted about Charms, telling him it was a weak, pointless subject.

But Neville was _good_ at Charms, or if not good, then he was decent. He was passable. But that didn't matter, because in the eyes of his grandmother, he was still a failure who would never amount to anything next to his parents. And he was broken because of it.

**...O...**

_Word Count: 285. With A/N and title: 353 (going by OpenOffice word count)._

_A/N: This was slightly rushed. I don't think I did as well with my writing on this one, sadly. The ending is a little...bad. I'll go back and edit stuff sometime. Hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to criticize._

_You've read. Now Review._

_-DES_


	3. Hope

**Chicken Soup for the Drabbler's Soul**

**Character: Ginny Weasley**

**Chapter Three**

**Hope**

**..0..**

Ginny Weasley slipped out of her window and grabbed onto the sturdy branch that erupted from the tree below her. She hit the bark and winced, but it was worth it. This was the only place she could really see the stars and be completely alone, as the latter was very hard to find in her crowded household.

She came out here every time something bad happened. Every time something went bad in her life, sitting out there while simply _thinking_ had helped. And now Harry was going off to help save the world, putting himself in the way of danger and leaving Ginny to sit at home, pining away, hoping that, for once, something good would happen and he would come out safe and unscathed.

And Ginny Weasley did not pine away for boys. She did not have ridiculous dreams about them and she sure as hell did not sit around, doing nothing, feeling sorry for herself.

But, for Harry Potter, she did all of those things. She pined away for him, constantly wishing he was with her. She had had dreams about him and what was she doing now? Sitting out on a tree, doing nothing, and feeling incredibly sorry for herself.

She sighed in frustration and glared at the one, lonely star that lit up the dark sky. "He will be okay. He will be okay. He will be okay..." She repeated those words to herself over and over again, still staring into the sky and knowing that, for once, she couldn't do anything but hope.

**..0..**

_A/N: So that is it. I haven't written about Ginny before and I wanted to give Neville a break (though don't worry. He will make many re-appearances). Was she in character? As I said, I haven't written about her before, nor Draco. Yes, I know. Funny for a DG shipper, correct? Oh well._

_Word Count: 251.  
Word Count with A/N and Titles: 341 (going by OpenOffice)_

_Hope you enjoyed it._

_You've read. Now review._

_-DES ^-^_


	4. Quills

**Chicken Soup for the Drabbler's Soul**

**Character: Luna Lovegood**

**Chapter Four**

**Quills**

**..0..**

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked up suddenly as the door to their train compartment opened and Luna Lovegood entered, taking a seat across from Hermione. She had a copy of The Quibbler clutched in her left hand and a trunk in the other. Completely normal for her, Harry supposed. At least she wasn't wearing the odd glasses she seemed so fond of.. Neville Longbottom followed her in, holding the usual potted plant in his hands.

"Hello." she said. Her voice held that dreamy innocence that always made Harry feel uncomfortable.

They all chorused a hello and then,"Er, Luna..." Hermione began hesitantly, "What is that, er, well, _thing_ on your head?"

Luna looked at her, showing a hint of surprise that she didn't know what the newest strange accessory was. "Oh. It's a headband, of course! With the quills from a Umgubular Slashkitlers sewn in." she grew more excited by each word she spoke. "My father says they're _very_ rare. It is very lucky of us that we managed to even get them. Of course, the quills _do _bring good luck..." Here she leaned in conspiratorially and dropped her voice low enough that Harry had to lean in to hear. "They help keep the Wrackspurts and Nargles away. They're actually quite helpful. Would you like one, Neville? I have an extra in my trunk, if it hasn't been broken." Her eyes widened at the thought. "Oh, I hope it hasn't! They are rather fragile, of course. Umgubular Slashkitlers aren't really strong creatures. They're quite docile actually, and _very_ sweet, if you can find one to talk to you. They radiate luck."

She set the Quibbler aside and rummaged through the contents of her trunk, trying to find another headband for Neville. "Really?" Neville said, eagerness laced into his voice. "I could use some luck." He spoke wistfully, then leaned over to take a look in Luna's trunk as well.

"Yes...Oh, no. I can't find it...Maybe it's in the other trunk?..."

Harry stared at them, wondering whether to laugh or hold his silence but just then Hermione leaned over to him and whispered in his ear, "They're porcupine quills."

He should have known.

**..0..**

_A/N: For once, this is not rushed. I actually took some time on it. I don't think it turned out great. See, I love Luna but have never written about her and I wanted to try it. I don't know how well I did...*bites lip* _

_Anyway, please criticize. This is one of those chapters that I will want to go back and perfect at some point. What do you think? _

_Word Count: 369. _

_Word Count with A/N-Titles: 269 (going by OpenOffice)_

_You've read. Now review._

_-Des_


	5. Doorway

**Chicken Soup for the Drabbler's Soul**

**Character: Ginny Weasley**

**Chapter Five**

**Doorway**

**...0...**

Ginny stood, staring at the brass doorknob her hand was resting on, trying to command her body to move. The doorknob was one of those little things that shouldn't have been important to anyone but seemed to determine her fate. It seemed to be one of those life-or-death things. One simple decision could change everything for her.

Draco had told her to meet him there. To him it was a simple request, a simple wish that she would meet him in the Prefects bathroom. But to her it was much more than that. It wasn't a simple request to sneak out of her dorms. No, it was a request to sneak out to meet a boy who was frowned upon by her friends and family. It was a request to break the rules for someone she wasn't even sure she liked and just throw herself into it, trusting that she wouldn't come out humiliated.

To her it was no simple wish. The decision would determine everything for her. It would change her relationships with her friends and family. It would change her image at school and would affect her outlook on the Wizarding community.

She had grown up with one simple fact: The Malfoys were bad and meant to be avoided at all costs. She had never questioned that fact. It was a constant in her life. And now she would be throwing that to the wind, hoping that she wasn't making the worst possible decision.

How did one ignore everything they had been raised to know so easily? How could she just walk into that bathroom and have her little rendezvous with Draco Malfoy, the _one_ boy she was meant to steer clear of?

It was not a simple request to her. It was more than that. It was something that required thought that she had invested. And yet, despite every fiber of her being screaming not to, she opened the door and stepped through the doorway, aware that she might have just made the worst mistake of her life...Or the best.

**...0...**

_A/N: I am very disappointed in this chapter and am shocked that I am even putting it up. Really, I wasn't sure it went with the prompt but it was my only idea and I went for it. I don't believe my writing was quite as good for this one._

_This challenge seems to be making me try everything. I have never written about Neville, Luna, or Ginny but I did for this one. Regardless of my thoughts, I hope you enjoyed it._

_You've read. Now review._

_-Des_

Word Count: 347

Word Count with A/N and Titles: 462 (going by OpenOffice)


	6. Breathless

**Chicken Soup for the Drabbler's Soul**

**Dedicated to my brother, Ean**

**Chapter Six**

**Breathless**

**...O...**

"It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

The words had no sooner than left Dumbledore's mouth when the Great Hall erupted in chaos. Shouts exploded in the air, cheers could be heard from the Enterance Hall, and the clapping was near deafening. Neville Longbottom didn't join in the celebration though. Instead, he stared straight ahead, trying to process what this meant for him.

The glory, the riches...Those didn't seem important to him. No, Neville was thinking about the acknowlegement he would finally get from his grandmother, the acceptance. If he won this he wouldn't be a failure anymore. If he won she could never say that he would never amount to his parents. He could finally prove to her that he was worth something. The thought was good but there was a downside. There was always a downside.

What if he didn't survive and_ instead he died._..Then what would become of him? A distant thought in his grandmother's memory? Something to be even more ashamed of because he had failed? Something to forget in a matter of days and try to never think about again?

And then the thought of dying itself...Neville was miserable but he wasn't suicidal. He still had hope to cling to that his grandmother would someday open her eyes and see that he _was_ good for something, a fact that she had never acknowledged.

Then there was the worst possible thought- he didn't sign up. He didn't even try; never took a shot at it. He would have to deal with that shame. The shame that his grandmother would impose upon him because he was too scared to put it all on the line and just try. He could hear her voice in his ears, telling him that he was weak for not trying. Weak for being scared. _But the alternative would be to sign up and face death. Or worse. And that was something he wasn't prepared for._

Suddenly his breath came in choppy, uneven gasps and his vision swam. He had only two choices and he knew which he must choose-sign up and risk death over shame. His vision continued to swim and he gripped the table with his hands, his knuckles turning white.

The biggest shock came at Dumbledore's next words, when his breath was sucked out of his body and his heart sank a little at the loss of an opportunity to prove himself. He seemed to have found his scapegoat.

"Only students that are of age may submit their names."

**...O...**

_A/N: I hope you enjoyed this nearly as much as I enjoyed writing it. This was the first chapter that I feel confident about and not scared to post. I mean, there is room for improvement of course, but regardless, I loved writing it and feel confident that it wasn't completely awful. _

_You've read. Now review._

_-Des_

_Word Count: 399_

_Word Count with A/N and Titles: 483 (going by OpenOffice)_


	7. Pain

**Chicken Soup for the Drabbler's Soul.**

**Dedicated to my friend Zoe. **

**Chapter Seven.**

**Pain. **

**...O...**

The pain wasn't tangible. It wasn't a physical pain. It wasn't something you could see. It wasn't something that could be made better by a Band-Aid or even the most complicated healing charms. No, this pain went deeper. It went right into the soul, inpaled itself there and refused to leave.

It was a pain that they both felt. It was a pain that only friends and family could inflict upon you, even if it was unintentional. It was a pain that was driven so deep into their souls that it caused tears to form.

It was a pain that caused them to wonder what had gone wrong. Weren't their families obligated to love and support them through everything? Or was that a contract that could be easily broken and forgotten? Weren't friends supposed to stay together until the end? Weren't they supposed to be the few people who would go through everything with you, through the pain and humiliation?

Familes and friends were supposed to be the constants in their lives, but now those constants were replaced by pain and even more pain. They just had to live through it. They had to struggle through the pain to reach the other side, the brighter side.

It was the pain of being shunned and ignored. It was the pain of not being accepted by the people you cared about most. It was the pain of being forgotten. The pain that left a gaping hole in their hearts. _Well, _Draco and Ginny supposed, _they weren't completely alone. _Now they had each other to help work through the pain. They could become each others' family and friends. They could lean on each other, be there for each other.

But there was an imposing question: _What if it didn't work out?_

**...O...**

_A/N: This was not my original idea. I wanted to write about George's pain in losing Fred but I wrote it and felt that I had failed and that I messed up George's character and pain. I am not proud of this chapter but I hope you didn't find it too awful to read. Feel free to criticize. _

_I would like to give thanks to my dear friend and beta reader, Rachel E Dare. _

_You've read. Now review._

_-Des_

_Word Count: 368 (going by OpenOffice)_


	8. Test

**Prompt Eight: TEST**

**Dedicated to my dear friend, storm-brain. **

**...O...**

It was a test. A stupid, ridiculous test that Draco Malfoy was going to take. It would risk his reputation, his, er, _relationship _with his father and he would become the laughing stock of the school. And, as insane as the idea was, he was going to do it. He was going to do it for one simple reason: it meant he got the girl.

After months of working to get her, to win her over, he would _finally_ get her. It wasn't easy convincing someone who had hated you for years and you them that you loved them and refused to let anything change that. And, oh god, the family...That had been the worst but at least now they were convinced that he loved her and, god, he really did. She just didn't seem to see that.

It had been a hard fact to accept at first but after he had? Everything fell into place. Well, _almost_ everything. The girl hadn't. She had denied everything he told her, ignored him most of the time, forced him through humiliating tests and had finally accepted that he wasn't playing some sick joke on her and that he really was head over heels.

Four months. He had courted her for four months to end up here a the test. The _final_ test she would run him through. The final test to prove that he was truly and deeply and madly in love with her. He stared at the door that would, really, change everything for him in a few, short minutes. It was a dark brown and had numerous small holes in it. Pfft.

He only had to wait for a few moments before the door actually opened and an old witch walked out, rooting through her large handbag for something. Her robes were a faded green and her cloak was fraying at the edges. Her hair that was normally a wispy gray was covered by a faded blue hat and she seemed to something green stuck permenately in her teeth.

_Get used to her, Draco. You are going to have over a dozen classes with her..._

He let out a low groan. _Think of the girl. Think of the girl..._He turned slightly, just enough that he could see the red haired witch smirking at him from the shadow of a corridor. She noticed his glare, gave him a little satisfied smile and then raised her eyebrows.

God, he really hated Ginny for this.

He groaned again and turned back to the old, battered witch before him. "Ms. Keiler? I would like to join Muggle Studies."

**...O...**

_Word Count: 396 (according to OpenOffice)_

_A/N: Damn. I really liked this idea. I absolutely loved the prompt and I came up with this idea. It is, technically, my first Draco/Ginny fic. Er, it was much better but I had to trim it down A LOT to __fit it into the 400 word limit. Eh. It is what it is. Criticize? 0_0_

_You've read. Now review.  
-Willful Destruction _


	9. Drink

**Prompt Nine: Drink**

**Dedicated to my online bestie, LionessAmaya**

**...O...**

Draco's eyes were heavy when he awoke and he could taste alchohol on his own breath. He had a pounding headache and the harsh glare the lamp cast on the room made him wish he had passed on that eight drink and left the reunion sooner.

_I have a hangover. Bloody brilliant..._

He groaned into his pillow and then turned over, trying to remember what you did for hangovers. Potions? Water? Slept for days? He would have to do all three, he supposed. And, goddammit, he needed to turn off that light.

He peeked one eyelid open and slowly moved bit, by bit to the edge of his bed. He groaned again and lifted himself onto his elbows to reach for the switch. Just at that moment, when his eyes were as open as they were going to get and his mind wasn't quite as befuddled, he realized that the hangover was going to be the least of his problems.

Why? Because where the should have been an empty space in the bed there was a red haired witch, nose scrunched up and eyes still closed. Ginny, he recognized. He just sighed for a minute, thinking that he needed to get a glass of water and a good hangover potion before his head exploded and then it really hit him and then he stared down at her in horror. Ginny _Weasley. _

_What the hell had happened last night?_

**...O...**

_Word Count: 298 (according to OpenOffice)_

_A/N: I...do not like this chapter. I do not like this prompt. I do not like my writing. However, it is nearly five am and I haven't slept and I know that I need to get this out there. Regardless of my opinions, I still hope you enjoyed it. _

_I did not have a beta for this, so any mistakes are mine. _

_You've read. Now review. _

_-Willful Destruction_


	10. Anger

**Prompt Ten: Anger**

**Dedicated to my dear friend, Acacia Thorn.**

**...O...**

It was the fact that nobody cared, that angered Lavender Brown the most. It was the fact that it didn't seem to matter that he had fought along with the others, fought and died. It seemed that he was just another face in the sea of the dead. Nobody seemed to care that he had lived and breathed once, that he had been a real person.

Nobody except her. She was the only one standing next to his body and she was the only one mourning the loss of another friend and wizard. She was the only one who was there with him when the medi-witch came over, checking to see that he was truly dead. She was the only one to shed tears for him when they finally took him away.

And it made her so mad. Didn't anybody care? Didn't they care that he had fought like the others? _Died_ like the others. She glared through the tears that didn't seem to want to go away and then scrubbed furiously under her eyes. Of course they didn't. To them he was just another body. A body that nobody had taken the time to recognize. He was just another number in the death toll and Lavender knew he deserved more than that.

He deserved feasts in his honor. He deserved tears, broken hearts. He should have been honored and remembered by everyone. But she knew he would never get it. He would remain another body that nobody took the time to recognize, much less mourn.

His funeral was a short and private event. There were very few people there and even less of that number shed tears over the loss. Lavender ran her fingers under her eyes and stepped up to the casket, trying to gather enough composure to not make a scene.

The casket was closed, not revealing the boy within it but she knew that he would be small and young and that he would look like he was simply taking a nap. She ran her fingers along the top of the casket. The smooth wood was warm under her fingers and she almost smiled at the simple, unimportant thought. She looked down at the small, gold plaque that rested on the casket. She ran her fingers across that as well, feeling the rough indentions under her fingers.

_Colin Creevey, brother and friend. Lost in the Battle of Hogwarts. _

"I'll make them remember you, Colin." she said softly, a whispered oath that she would cling to for months, years to come. "They will remember you." And then she disappeared out of the doorway, not stopping to say goodbye.

**...O...**

_Word Count: 396 (according to OpenOffice)_

_A/N: Damn you, word cap! This was much, much longer (I think it rounded off to 480 words) but, of course, I had to shave it down A LOT. You have no idea how much doing that pained me...Anyway, this is what the prompt and recent real life issues made me think of. It isn't exactly _anger _but it addresses it a bit...Eh. Hope you liked it._

_You've read. Now review. _

_-Willful Destruction _


	11. Dreams

**Prompt Eleven: Dreams**

**Dedicated to my friend, Karma's Inferno**

**...O...**

Hermione rolled over in her bed and smiled. Dreams. Who didn't love them? They were a safe haven where anything and everything was possible. She snorted a bit. Of course, dreams almost never came true and she knew that hers specifically never would.

Her dreams weren't filled with gold and riches. They weren't terribly complicated dreams with knights or cute boys coming to take her away. No, her dreams were simple and impossible. She wanted peace. She wanted a school year where she could focus on her studies and not be worried about the latest adventure she would embark on. She wanted a school year without _worrying. _

And, as simple as her dreams were, they were complex as well. So many things had to change to make peace possible. So many things that required so much effort that people weren't ready to give. No, people wanted war. They _wanted_ conflict and fighting. They didn't realize what it did to everyone and they didn't realize what the final outcomes would be.

She rolled over once more in her bed so that she was staring up at the canopy over her bed. No, peace wouldn't be possible for a long time and when it did become possible people would find new things to fight about, new conflict to bring to the table.

But, she mused, she could still dream and she could still wish and she could still hope for that simple, yet complex dream to come true.

**...O...**

_Word Count: 334_

_A/N: Compared to my other work, this fails. However, I do not like this prompt and this was the only idea that came to me, so I am leaving it be. Regardless of my opinions, I hope you enjoyed it. This did not have a beta, so all mistakes are mine._

_You've read. Now review._

_-Des _


	12. Puzzle

**Prompt Twelve: Puzzle**

**Should be half-way decent...**

**...O...**

Hermione's looked around groggily, trying to blink the sleep out of her eyes. She looked over at the digital clock she had insisted upon buying and frowned when she saw that it read four-forty am. That wasn't right. She continued frowning, trying to find what had awoken her.

The culprit was discovered when there was a loud snore that shuddered out from the body lying next to her. She rolled her eyes. It had just been Fred then. _Of course _it was Fred. Hermione hadn't gotten a full nights sleep since their engagement. He snored far too loudly and when he wasn't snoring he was awake and playing with her curls or poking her stomach, _trying_ to wake her.

She rolled her eyes once more and propped herself up on her elbow, debating whether or not it would be cruel to wake him now. She voted against it and satisfied herself by watching him sleep. He slept on his stomach, one arm hanging off the bed and the other by his side. His hair stuck up at odd angles and he scrunched his nose up every few minutes as if trying to get something off the tip of it.

She slid further into the covers and snuggled against him. Of course after she was woken up she couldn't sleep anymore but the good thing was that she could enjoy Fred not talking or making a joke or rambling on about something or other for once. She rolled her eyes again before deciding that she wasn't being quite fair.

He was sweet. He had to be, or she wouldn't have married him. He was sweet and funny and he was sensitive. He knew when he had done something wrong and he knew how to patch up things and he knew how to lift Hermione's spirits when she was depressed.

So, how could the man who spent far too much time in the bathroom and littered his socks throughout every inch of their apartment be so damn _sweet_? It didn't fit. It was like shoving the wrong puzzle pieces together, insisting that they went together when you knew that they, in reality, _did not fit. _

Well, she supposed, he _was_ a puzzle that she hadn't quite solved yet. But, mark her words, she would. At some point in time she would know everything about him and she would know why he could be sweet and the most annoying ass on the planet at the same time and she would know why he left his dirty socks laying around the apartment and why he would randomly come home with a bouquet of flowers for her. Yes. She would solve the puzzle known as Fred Weasley whether he liked it or not.

**...O...**

_Word Count: 397 (according to OpenOffice)_

_A/N: Oh God, please tell me that is over...That was so painful for ME to write. I hate this prompt. I mean, I have found out that I have a hatred for the majority of the prompts but still. My muse seems to have left me and look what happens. This. Ugh. -sigh- Still, review please. _

_-Willful Destruction _


	13. Discrepant

**Prompt Thirteen: Discrepant**

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ginny never expected there to be much of a difference at Hogwarts without Draco Malfoy. She expected that she would go to classes, talk to her friends, and then every holiday she would return home to her family and pull pranks on her brothers. She didn't expect there to be an empty hole in her chest.

Yet there was... and it didn't make sense.

Malfoy had tortured her. He had made fun of her clothes, her money (Or lack-there-of), her family, her hair. All of it. He had made her life hell and yet... she _missed_ the stupid jack-ass.

She had heard he was getting married. She had been shocked. He had just gotten out of Hogwarts. But, then again, he was a Malfoy. They were one of those old money families. For all she knew he was betrothed. Or -

Wait... _What_? God, her brain seemed to be malfunctioning. She did not miss Draco Malfoy. It didn't make sense because the guy was a jack-ass. Slowly she began nodding. He was a jack-ass. Quite true. So nothing had changed. She was just deranged.

She rolled her eyes.

Nothing had changed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_Word Count: 196_

_A/N: Okay, so this was written when I should have been on like, drabble number fifty-something. The thing was that I had completely skipped over this prompt, which is bad. I didn't notice it and kept going. However, recently, I realized that the numbers on my drabbles and the number of chapters did not match up._

_Sorry this is late. I actually like it though, so I hope you did too. _

_-Des_


	14. Holiday

**Prompt Fourteen: Holiday**

**Dedicated to my teacher, Mrs. Karwowski, who gave the inspiration for this. **

**...O...**

Harry Potter was quite for many reasons. He was a wizard and then, if that wasn't enough, he was a super-natural wizard who had defeated one of the most powerful, dark wizards of all time. He was quite aware of this. He knew he was different and he knew that it would always be like that. Still, there was one difference in him and then other Hogwarts students that he wished wasn't quite there: He dreaded summer holidays.

For normal Hogwarts students summer holidays meant going home and having fun. It meant that you go to hold off on homework until the last possible moment and, sometimes, it meant you got to go on vacation to some distant country that nobody has ever _really _heard of to visit relatives that _you_ had never _really_ heard of.

But for Harry, summer holidays meant that he had to go home to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They meant that he had to do his homework in the middle of the night and with a flashlight while hiding under the covers. They meant that he couldn't practice Quidditch because his belongings were all locked in the cupboard—the same cupboard that was his room for eleven years.

To most children, summer holidays were a relief. A break from the endless cramps in their hands and the aches in their necks. A break from _work. _But, to Harry, summer holidays were torture. They were three months in which he was in a living hell. So Harry lifted his bulging trunk and walked sadly through the train doors, mentally preparing himself for those three dreadful months he had ahead of him. _Summer holidays,._ _Pfft. _

**...O...**

_Word Count: 301 (according to OpenOffice)_

_A/N: Gah...-headdesk- On second thought, this was awful and pointless. This was bad. -nods- Review, if you like, but if you don't I won't mind. I, personally, hated this chapter and prompt.. Yep..._

_-Willful Destruction_


	15. Mirror

**Prompt 15: Mirror**

**This is unrealistic at one bit. Sorry. This is frikking awful...**

**...O...**

The eleven year old boy who had fallen into the room in an attempt to escape Peeves had expected to find an empty classroom. One that nobody knew existed or cared about. He expected to see chairs stacked on top of desks, collecting dust—and he did. He saw that and then he saw...a mirror.

It was made or a rough, gray stone and there were words carved into the edge of it. "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.", he read as he took a step closer. He frowned and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves in his mind and he knew that it meant_: _"I show not your face but your hearts desire.".

_Strange_, he thought. Weren't mirrors _supposed_ to show your face? He took another step forward and another and even another. Soon enough he was standing directly in front of it, wondering what _his_ hearts desire would be.

At first it was just a subtle difference in the mirror and he wasn't even sure the mirror had changed but soon he was staring back at himself. It was him surrounded by people. He frowned, confused, and took yet another step closer. He was correct. It was people—people who he knew; Hogwarts students, grandparents, cousins of his.

They all surrounded him, laughing and he was doing the same, a confident smile on his face. He had a badge on his chest that read 'Head Boy'. How could that be his hearts desire? To be surrounded by friends and be Head Boy...There were two things wrong with that. One: he was eleven. He couldn't be head boy and, frankly, he didn't want to be. Two: He _had_ friends...sort of. How could that be his hearts desire if he already had it? Shouldn't it show something that he didn't have?

And in that moment it hit him. He wanted acceptance from his peers. He wanted to be included and not be shoved to the background. Forgotten. Ignored. He wanted that to be over. He wanted to not be the awkward eleven year old boy that he was.

He was just frightened that that would never happen.

_No._ He stared back at the mirror, refusing to believe that he wouldn't be recognized as he should be. He refused to believe that he would never be accepted by his peers or his family or his teachers or anyone else for that matter. And with that Neville Longbottom turned his back on the mirror, oddly determined to make the scene in the mirror a reality.

**...O...**

_Word Count: 398 (going by OpenOffice word count)_

_A/N: Ugh. Kill me now. This was awful and unrealistic at one bit. Please excuse the fact that this fails and continue on your way. I was rushing because I was terribly behind on chapters and such. Anyway, I hope it wasn't quite as awful as I believe it to be. _

_-Willful Destruction_


	16. Seeking Peace

**Prompt Sixteen: Seeking Peace**

**God...This was awful. Anyway, lets continue...**

**...O...**

The Weasley household was hectic. It was the first Christmas Eve after the war and old grudges had been put aside—well, for most people. Mrs. Weasley was one of those people and she had made it seem fit to invite the Malfoys. She, however, did not inform the Weasley brothers and when Ron walked in on Ginny making out with Draco Malfoy on her bed...Well, things get pretty self explanatory from there.

So, needless to say, the entire household was in an uproar and Hermione was stuck in the middle of everything. She wanted to support Ginny and then she wanted to calm Ron down, which would only happen if she said that she was on his side. Each time she supported Ginny, Ron got more pissed and then she was trying to help Harry console him and...just..._ugh_. She needed peace. She needed some place she could go and sit down with a book and try to forget everything for the time being.

That place, surprisingly, turned out to be the shed. She had tried sitting in the garden and then in Percy's old bedroom but she had been caught in both places and ranted to about various things, including the fact that she hadn't made her bed that morning. She had tried multiple places after that and she had still been caught and berated for trying to slip away. So, in the end, the shed was all that was left. It wasn't the ideal place to find quiet but Hermione was desperate and running out of options. She couldn't be picky.

As soon as she reached it, she jerked open the door, darted in, and slammed the door, praying that nobody had seen her. She breathed out when she realized that she hadn't been spotted in her attempt at freedom. She then moved back, trying to find a place to sit in the middle of the rusty tools.

She was so preoccupied with doing so that she didn't know that someone else was there with her, currently frowning and wondering what Hermione was doing hiding in a shed.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?"

She let out a frightened shriek and backed up into a pile of tools. "What the...? George?"

"Fred actually. What are you _doing_?" The voice came from the other end of the shed, which was about a foot away from where she sat, rather uncomfortably, in a pile of tools.

"I'm trying to get away from the fighting and yelling and screaming. God, can't you all just get over the fact that _Ginny and Draco are dating_?" She paused, rolled her shoulders back, and then sighed. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Hiding from dear Ron-ykins." He laughed. "I _might_ have dyed his hair purple..."

"Oh, good lord..."

In the end, they managed to hide from the Weasleys for a biit. George ended up finding them an hour later and made many lewd suggestions. Still, Hermione managed to find her peace.

**...O...**

_A/N: Oh, fuck. I hope you didn't read this. This is absolutely awful... I cannot believe I am posting this. However, I am a few prompts behind and I needed to get something out. This challenge is not doing me any good. I am writing horribly. -shudders-_

_Anyway, review...Or not. _

_-Willful Destruction_


	17. Questioning

**Prompt Seventeen: Questioning**

**Dedicated to my annoying younger cousins, Allisa and Greyson.**

**..O...**

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"More importantly: Is he any good?"

"Whore!"

"How did this _happen_?"

"He's a _Malfoy_! Are you _insane_?"

The questions, the insults—they were endless. They followed Ginny everywhere she went; As she switched classes, as she entered the Great Hall, when she left the library. She was sick of it. She was sick of people knowing too much about her personal life and having the nerve to criticize her about it.

The war was over and old grudges needed to be dropped. People just couldn't manage to do that though. Nobody could just accept the fact that she and Draco Malfoy were together and nothing was going to change that anytime soon.

The students of Hogwarts didn't realize that this was a new era, a new dawn in time. The war was over. Voldemort was dead and the Death Eaters were being rounded up and locked in prisons. It was time for peace and people had the nerve to question it. To test how long it would hold out. Try to _disrupt_ it even!

Ginny was sick of it, disgusted by it. They couldn't just realize that it didn't matter now—she was with Draco, Luna was with Blaise and Seamus was dating Pansy Parkinson—because things were changing. They just needed to stop questioning the peace, the change and accept it as a fact.

**..O...**

_Word Count: 321_

_A/N: Eh. This is...mediocre, I believe. I think my writing is getting worse. Goddammit. -headdesk- Well, not my overall writing because Forgotten is half decent still but I mean as far as these drabbles go. Frick. _

_Anyway, review. Or not._

_-Willful Destruction_


	18. Red

**Prompt Eighteen: Red**

**Er...failure? **

**...O...**

_Word Count: 178 (according to Write or Die)_

_A/N: This probably fails, as the idea was rather crappy. Eek. Please don't hate me. *cringes* (My writing fails. Shit.). Review...or not. *waves**leaves*_

_-Willful Destruction_

**_..._O_..._**

Draco Malfoy hated Hermione Granger. He hated her bushy brown hair that she never seemed to fix and he hated her (normally) boring clothing. He hated the smug looks that she got when she beat him at something and he, more importantly, hated when she beat him at something-and she beat him at everything.

Still, though he was so sure of his hatred for her, he couldn't keep the lust out of his eyes or stop the tightening in his jeans when she walked into the Great Hall, wearing the bright red jeans and tank top that clung to her chest far too much. He sucked in a breath and tried to stir up that familiar hatred for her—it didn't work and, in the end, he ended up staring at her like an idiot as she took her seat at the Gryffindor table.

"Like her, don't you Draco?" Pansy said, taking a seat beside him.

He wasn't sure how to answer her.

**...O...**


	19. Happiness

**Prompt Nineteen: Happiness**

**Slightly fluffy, I think. Enjoy.**

Neville had never known true happiness. He had never had the pleasure of feeling that sense of right or felt the ache of his cheeks after he finally stopped smiling. He had never known any of those things. No. He had never known true happiness until he met _her_.

He didn't know it until he said those two simple words. He didn't know what is was like to wake up everyday, knowing that nothing could mess up that day because she was with him. No. He had never known happiness until he met her.

He had never felt what it was like to look across the room and see her. He would never have know what it was like to look across the room and see her there, smiling and know that she was his and his only. That he had claimed her. He had never had the pleasure of knowing that the world was in complete balance, harmony until that one day when he felt his lips on hers. No. He had never known true happiness until he met her.

Most importantly, he had never felt that real dose of acceptance he got from simply looking at her, knowing that she wasn't judgmental and knowing that she loved every bit of him, mistakes and all. And he didn't know what it felt like to have that aggressive, protective instinct until he had met her. He didn't know what that felt like until someone insulted her, called her weird, a freak and he had the strangest urge to curse the hell out of them.

None of those feelings, those simple pleasures had been known to him until he had taken his spot across from Luna Lovegood in the church. He didn't know what it felt like to stare across from her, knowing that in a few mere minutes she would be his and his alone. No. He didn't know true happiness until she those two simple words left her mouth and she was his and would be, forever. His one true happiness...

_Word Count: 337_

_A/N: I feel...satisfied with this. Not my best work, I must admit, but I enjoyed writing it. I think that this is slightly fluffy but...*shrugs* Hope you enjoyed it. :P _

_-Willful Destruction_


	20. Family

**Prompt Twenty: Family**

**Dedicated, obviously, to my wonderful, screwed up family, online and off.**

**Enjoy.**

_Family_, Ginny thought, disgusted, stabbing the knife straight through the potato she was cutting. Who needed family? Family was irritating and you never got quite enough time to get ready in the mornings. You got blamed for your siblings pranks and screw ups and, when found innocent, all you got was an "Oh. Sorry.". Nobody cared what you really thought because you were younger than every other member of the house and considered below them, ignorant.

Ginny glared at the window in front of her. Through it she could see the rest of her family outside, chatting away, playing Quidditch while she stood inside, slicing potatoes because of some prank she supposedly did. She continued glaring, though now staring pointedly at one red haired boy. Er, well, one of the many red haired boys. Fred. _He_ had done the stupid prank. He had died their aunts hair blue and tampered with her clothes. He had steamed up the bathroom that morning because he spent far too much time in that goddammed bathroom, mousing his hair into perfection. She snorted. And here _she_ was, left to cut up vegetables while he got to play Quidditch and have a good ole time.

"Stupid. Fucking. Family. Fred...kill...sick bastard..." she muttered, turning away from the window and taking a seat at the table. "Fred...stupid, asshole...burn in hell..."

"I'm a stupid asshole who is going to burn in hell? I must say, Gin, your insults are getting rather boring." Ginny's head snapped up as the bane of her existence entered the room, looking quite sorry for himself.

"What do you want?" she said rudely, glaring all the while.

"I figured I would help, since this should be _my_ punishment, not yours but..."

"Just found that out, did you? Couldn't be bothered to mention that to mum when she was yelling at me for ages earlier? Or take the responsibility when she decided to punish _me_?"

"Ouch. Not in a forgiving mood, then?" He said tentatively, taking a seat across from her at the table. She continued glaring, though her expression did soften slightly when he pulled out his wand and magicked the potatoes to cut themselves. She frowned at him and brought up her knees under her chin.

"Forgive me?"

She rolled her eyes and stood. "I guess I could. After all, you _are_ family." And with a grin she flounced out of the kitchen, missing the echoing grin on Fred's face.

_Word Count: 397_

_A/N: There it is! Magic number twenty! ^-^ I have decided that this challenge is going to be, for me, more of something to relax with (writing wise) but to get myself on track for deadlines and such. In other words: My writing isn't going to be quite as good. Just as a future warning._

_That is all. Review, would you? Thanks. _

_-Willful Destruction_


	21. Divorce

**Prompt Twenty-one: Divorce.**

**Enjoy!**

**...O...**

"Are we really going through with this?" Hermione whispered, looking across the small table at Harry, her about-to-be-former lover, trying to find the answers in his eyes. "Do you want to do this?"

He bent his head low, looking at the ground instead of at her. "I cheated on you, Hermione." She flinched. She knew it was true, but it still stung. "I'm in love with Gin. We can't do this anymore..._I_ can't do this anymore."

Tears stung at her eyes. She knew he was right. She knew that they weren't destined to remain together and that they weren't soul-mates but it still hurt. It felt like a dream was dying, an era ending.

"It's just...I wanted to make this work so much. I wanted to make us work. And...we don't. We _won't_. Ever. It's like the death of a dream that I've clung to for so long."

"We're meant to be friends, mates, pals, Hermione. Just friends."

"Friends," she confirmed, finally looking up at him, ready to face whatever she would see in his expression, posture, eyes. She frowned slightly and tilted her head to the side. Sadness. He was as sad that this was ending as much as she was... Well, not quite as sad, she thought. He had Ginny now, someone to go home to after this was over. And what did she have? Nothing. After this was over, after the divorce papers were finalized, she would go home to her cat and an empty flat. She would be..._alone_.

And that was what scared her the most. She didn't want that. She had always had someone there, someone to share the ride with. And now? Now Harry would be gone, Ron was happily married, her parents were dead... She choked back a sob. Yes. She, Hermione Granger, would be alone again.

_There is nothing to do now but get it over with and just move forward, Hermione. You know that... _A voice in her head said, making her want to lift her hand and touch the quill to parchment. She almost whined back at it, almost cried, "But I don't _want_ to."

But she didn't. Instead she spoke softly, saying, "I think we better finalize these then." and then she lifted the quill in her hand and touched it to the parchment. She felt movement behind her and knew that Harry had gotten up and stood behind her. She felt a hand on her shoulder applying gentle pressure and she smiled.

_Friends._

**...O...**

_Word Count: 334 (according to OpenOffice)_

_A/N: There it is. I want to continue this into an actual fic. Probably turn it into a Charlie/Hermione, which will probably make Rowan happy. ^_^_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading. Review?_

_-Willful Destruction_


	22. Flying

**Prompt Twenty-two: Flying**

**Four hundred words on the dot! Woots!**

**...O...**

"Come on, Hermione. Just get on the bloody broom already." Harry said, losing patience with her. "It's not _dangerous_."

"Not dangerous my ass!" she said, taking a step away from the broom held in front of her and glaring at Harry. "Do you know how many people die every year from falling off broomsticks? Or how many people have-"

Harry cut her off, now glaring right back. "I don't bloody care how many people have died. I haven't, have I? And do you really think I would let you plunge to your death? No. So get on the bloody broom already." And then, in a split-second, his face changed into something more devilish. He smiled at her from hooded eyelids and a small smile curved on his lips. "Unless you want to fail the class."

"That's mean..." she said but her breath already came in short, uneven gasps and her eyes widened. She reached out for the broom without thinking, just knowing that she would _not_ fail. Not at this and not at anything else. Her fingers curled around the hard wood and she almost lifted a leg before she stopped suddenly, her body freezing before she twisted slowly back to look at Harry.

He was smiling in pure, boyish pleasure, loving the fact that he had made her act so out of character. "_No_." she said, glaring at Harry and dropping the broom. "I am not flying. I'll simply explain to Madam Hooch that I cannot take this test because I am scared of-"

And that was when it happened. Harry, finally losing his patience for good, moved towards her at lightning speed, wound his arms around her waist and sat her on the broom that hovered a few feet off the ground. He followed her on and lifted them further into the air before she could jump off.

"Harry! You bastard! You asshole! I can't believe you just-"

"Hermione," Harry's lips were at her ear and he spoke harshly. "Stop hitting me, dammit. I can't control this godforsaken broom when I am wrestling with you."

She let out a little squeak of horror and she quit hitting him, preferring to wrap her fingers around the broomstick and hold on for dear life. _Just don't look down Hermione. Just don't look down or look around you or just...close you eyes? No! No, no, no. Bad idea. No cookie..._

"See, Hermione? It isn't so bad. You're flying!" Harry said gleefully.

**...O...**

_Word Count: 398 according to OpenOffice. _

_A/N: Well, I had to trim this down quite a bit but I think it turned out half way decent so...-shrugs- I hope you enjoyed it. _

_Review?_

_-Willful Destruction _


	23. Drowning

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Drowning**

**This is..._awful_. Terrible. -shudders- That is all... Continue, if you wish...**

**...O...**

Harry was drowning. He could feel his insides freeze as the water covered him completely. His eyes drifted close and his mouth opened as he slowly lost consciousness.

It wasn't like falling asleep, this type of death. No, it was more like his body was freezing, locking itself up and refusing to function anymore. He couldn't move his limbs enough to fight for his life, to attempt to get out of the freezing lake. He couldn't form a coherent though.

He had always imagined that he would die in war, having lost to Voldemort and been done in with one of the Unforgivable Curses, tortured with the Cruciatus or a quick death simply from Avada Kedavra. Never would he have thought to be done in by drowning in some lake because of his own stupidity.

And then his body seized up and he couldn't think anymore. This was it. He was dead. He was going to die in the bottom of a lake. Not a very fitting end for The Boy Who Lived but it was happening. This was how he was going to die... And then a hand reached into the water and grasped his arm and he was no longer drowning, no longer dying. He could breathe and the blood began to course through is body.

He sent up a short prayer. He was alive.

**...O..**

_A/N: This. Fucking. Sucks. I hope that you did not make yourself sit through this and read it as it is f***ing horrible..-shudders- Oh my god. This was just...awful. There are no other words to describe it.-shudders-_

_Review, or not. Your choice. It was just too awful..._

_-Willful Destruction_


	24. Bed

**Prompt Twenty-Four: Bed**

**I do not like this prompt. That is all.**

**...O...**

Hermione Granger was running late. It wasn't something that she could recall having happened before and she blamed the fact that she was going to miss the first half of her potions class on Fred Weasley. He had been the one who had lured her out of her bed in the dead of the night and persuaded her to stay up late, stargazing and eating sweets taken from the kitchens.

Wizards didn't have alarm clocks and there wasn't a charm to force yourself to wake up at a certain time. You just had to depend on those around you to not let you miss classes and get up in time for a shower, which posed Hermione with the question: Why hadn't any of the other girls in her dormitory awoken her?

She didn't have time to contemplate it. She rolled over and fell out of the bed, hitting the floor with a loud _thump_. She groaned and rolled onto her back, not yet realizing that she was late and wasting precious time to get ready. In the end what alerted her to that fact was the stillness, the quiet, the fact that she couldn't hear Lavender Brown snoring. She jerked up, and stared around the room-it was empty.

Hermione let out a little squeak of horror and jumped up so fast she got lightheaded. _Oh my goodness. _She set about getting dressed. She figured that she had about fifteen minutes and then she had to be out, if not sooner. She had already missed the majority of her potions class (God, who made potions the first class of the day?) but she could still make the end of it and cram in whatever bit of the lesson she had missed.

She jumped into the shower, jumped out, dressed in her Hogwarts robes, brushed her teeth, and grabbed her bag that sat on the edge of her bed. She had just left the room when the bell rang, signaling the students to switch classes, and she thought that, next time, she would just have to make sure that she told Fred to fuck off and got in bed a lot sooner.

**..O..**

_Word Count: 359 (according to OpenOffice)_

_A/N: Er... Must I say anything? I already explained that this would all be for fun and that my writing wouldn't be quite as good. Um, this is...rather pointless. Just Hermione being late. Hopefully she wasn't OOC._

_Review? Y/N?_

_-Willful Destruction_


	25. Balloon

**Prompt Twenty-Five: Balloon**

**Decent idea, I think but probably bad writing. Frick.**

**

* * *

**

Draco Malfoy sauntered down Diagon alley, completely at ease with himself. The war was over. He had married. He had a child on the way and nothing - _nothing_ - could take away that odd, satisfied feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nothing, he thought, except memories.

He had looked over, possibly to peer in a store window, and had, instead, caught a young couple chasing down a five year old as a the little boy ran screaming towards a red balloon that had floated from the Muggle side of London. The image, so achingly familiar, made his head pound and his blood rush and then he wasn't thirty-one year old Draco anymore. No. He was five years old again.

_Draco Malfoy and his mother, Narcissa, had been in Diagon Alley, shopping for alchemy supplies when a bright red balloon had floated over from the Muggle side of London. He had been five years old at the time, carrying around a strawberry ice cream in one hand and clutching his mother's wrist with the other. It had been a coincidence that it had hit the edge of the building and then landed in front of him. _

_He abandoned his mother, dropped his ice cream, ran to it, and clutched the string in his fat fists. "Mummy! Mummy! What is it? What is it!" he whined. He ran back to her and pushed it into her hands. "What is it!" _

_She laughed and he snatched it back from her hands. "I don't know, Draco. It's Muggle. Put it down." She reached out for it but he had raced away, crashing into a few pedestrians. He giggled. "Nope!" _

_And then a game had started. She would move to take the balloon away and then he would run away and wait for her to chase him again. He had kept on giggling and running and he was happy. Of course, every time he had gone to Diagon Alley it had been fun. And then he would go back to Malfoy Manor and sit in his room, waiting for his father to call him to dinner. But when he went out with his mother and it was just the two of them... That was completely different. _

_She had always bought him ice cream or showed him how the carts at Gringotts worked. She always let him run ahead of her and help her pick out new robes. It was _fun_. Simple as that._

_He giggled again, moving away as his mother ran to chase him again, a smile on her face, and then backed into a stand of witch hats. His mouth formed a round 'O' as he began to fall, completely shocked. He fought to hold back tears as his back hit hard wood. _

Draco closed his eyes, lost in the memory, torn between wanting to have it and not. He breathed out and remembered how that day had ended.

_And then the balloon popped._

_

* * *

_

Word Count: 334

A/N: This was formed from the last sentence "And then the balloon popped.". I am not sure how well it turned out because I am bad at writing about Draco, to be honest. -cringes- The ending wasn't as good as I had wanted but... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Review, please and thank you. =]

-Des


	26. Compressed

**Prompt Twenty-Five: Compressed**

**Hopefully this was decent. Enjoy.**

**

* * *

**

Emotion was weak. They were petty, useless things that weren't meant to be hidden, bottled up. If his father had ever taught Draco anything it was that. It was the one thing that had stuck with him, the one thing he still believed in.

He had been good at it too. He was all but emotionless. He was excellent at hiding them or playing them off as something else, normally a cool blank mask that could mean anything. It was an art for him, something he constantly perfected and took pride in. What was better than seeing the look on Goyle's face when he thought that he was pissed at him or seeing the fear in Crabbe's when his face went completely blank as he stared him down?

And then he met _her_ and then everything went downhill.

He had hated Ginny at first. She irritated him, read him like an open book, and flaunted boyfriend after boyfriend in front of him. And then they had started dating. He wasn't quite sure when it happened. He wasn't quite sure _how_ it happened. He just knew that at one day he'd woken up with her in his bed and then everything blurred together in his memory and he wasn't sure where one day ended and the other began.

And then he had remembered that life long rule he had gone by, had always believed in - emotions were weak, petty, useless things that would only lead you down the wrong path. Then everything went downhill..._again_. He'd called it off, left her.

He'd gone into depression. Draco snorted at the memory and a blush rose in his cheeks.

Eventually, of course, he had grown a brain and maybe a heart and realized that he was an idiot and had crawled back to her doorstep and begged for her to take him back. He shuddered at the memory. He had _begged_. The whole deal with him on his hands and knees, groveling.

And, somewhere along their really fucked up relationship, he had stopped compressing every emotion he had. The change had been subtle, almost undetectable and then one day he had realized he was opening up, slowly but surely. Yes. It was slow and incredibly subtle but it happened and, sometimes, he wondered if it was for the better or the worse.

_

* * *

A/N: There it is. I hope you enjoyed it. Please review. Thanks. XD_

_Side note: -stabs prompt- TBH, writing drabbles is getting tiring. *sighs*_

_-Willful Destruction _


	27. Reinvigorated

**Prompt Twenty-Seven: Reinvigorated **

**Word Count: 322 (according to OpenOffice)**

* * *

Planning a wedding wasn't reinvigorating. It didn't give you that thrill that everyone said it did or make you feel like a new couple again. No, planning a wedding was nothing like that. And planning one with _Hermione_ _Granger_ was rather like being back in school, trying to fly under the radar and just pray to God that the pissed-off professor didn't notice you. She was like a drill Sargent with puffy, red eyes from stress and pregnancy hormones, and, if that wasn't enough, she had a mean streak that was a mile wide.

She fired three wedding planners before deciding to plan it herself. She snapped at Ginny, her Maid of Honor, twice when she suggested that the colors be white and blue because, apparently, those were awful colors that would clash with everyone's hair and then they would have mental breakdowns because they looked horrible and then Charlie would call of the wedding for her making his family cry and then everything would be ruined... Well, that is what she said anyway.

It was a shame really, Charlie thought as he saw his future wife break down into hysterics (again) about the flower arrangements. She had seemed so sane when they were dating and now she was _constantly_ in hysterics. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and yell at her that she needed to_ calm the fuck down_ but a year or so of dating had taught him one very valuable lesson: Never, ever, _ever_ tell Hermione Granger to calm the fuck down. It was like taunting the dragon when you knew that it could burn you to the crisp in two seconds flat.

He breathed out and massaged his aching temples.

_Oh dear God, let this be over._

**

* * *

**

_A/N: There it is. I hope it wasn't terrible. Please review. CC is much appreciated. (For the record, I want to murder this prompt, as I want to with much other prompts...)_

_Also, I would like to take a moment to express to you how much I am just trying to scrape by in this challenge. The writing will not be brilliant and I have accepted this fact. -shakes head- If I was doing this just for fun or something, then I would take a while to beta and such but I am so behind I don't have the time._

_I repeat: This is all for fun and I am just trying to make it through the challenge. The quality will not be as good as my other writings. I must apologize because I am sure that sounds awful but... I never expected the challenge to be this hard, to be completely honest. XD_

_-Willful Destruction _


	28. Spilt Milk

**Prompt Twenty-Eight: Spilt Milk**

**Word Count: 267**

**No comment.**

**

* * *

**

The first words that Ginny Weasley thought when she awoke were, "This is a mistake.", and it was. She shouldn't have slept with Draco Malfoy. She shouldn't have let him dance with her and she shouldn't have let him kiss her and she sure as hell shouldn't have let him sleep with her. The war might have been over but people still held grudges. You just couldn't forget everything that had happened to you before it, how people had treated you... Yes, she thought, confirming every thought running through her mind. It was a mistake, one that she couldn't correct.

She frowned. She wasn't used to their being things that she couldn't fix. She always knew the answer, always knew how to make people feel better, but this was beyond her reach. She couldn't change the past. She frowned again. Maybe she should go ask Hermione for one of those Time-Turners and then just go back and make herself _not_ sleep with Draco.

Nah. That was too drastic... Besides, she wasn't sure she would have stopped him. She stretched out, feeling her muscles scream in protest and not caring. The sex was great.

She felt him shift beside her and she rolled her eyes. What was that Muggle term? No use crying over spilled juice? She frowned. No, that didn't sound right... It was milk, right? Yeah... _No use crying over spilled milk_. She smiled slightly and pulled out another Muggle saying: _Time to face the music._

And with that she turned over and shoved on Draco's chest to wake him up.


	29. Contempt

**Prompt Twenty-Nine: Contempt**

**I had my brother beta this and I have not touched it since, so this is a sort of rough copy in my eyes. Still, enjoy. **

**

* * *

**

Sometimes, Hermione wondered how Draco Malfoy could live with himself. He was a sick, manipulative, Muggle-hating, Death Eater-loving, soul sucking - She stopped herself there and breathed out. He was, she thought, an idiot, plain and simple.

There wasn't a simpler way to state it. There were no other words to describe the soulless bastard named Draco Malfoy. If his hatred was directed somewhere, had a reason, a purpose then Hermione might understand it. She wouldn't like it but she would understand it. She would get that he had issues that he needed to sort out and they stemmed from a reasonable thought but no. Draco hated everyone and everything and there was no apparent reason for it.

How could someone hate muggle-borns with such ferocity and not have a logical explanation for it? Hermione scrunched her face up and gritted her teeth. She sliced through the potato she was cutting and she could feel her face heating up. What had Muggles done to him? What had they done to deserve such a hatred, even if they were blind to it? He had obviously never met Muggles. She snorted and imagined his voice. _Muggles are too filthy for those of _my_ station._

She turned and glared at the door that would lead back into the Weasley's living room where the Weasley's, Harry, Fluer, Pansy Parkinson, and Draco Malfoy would sit, all laughing over coffee or something. She grimaced. This was not going to be a fun holiday.

With that thought she turned back to the potatoes and began cutting again. She could do it by magic, she supposed, but that would take all the fun out of it. She grinned and evil, maniac grin and imagined that the potatoes were Draco's pretty little face. She sliced through each with a vengeance.

Time had gotten away from Hermione because in what she thought were a few seconds Mrs. Weasley popped into the kitchen and touched her on the shoulder. "Hermione?"

"Ah!" She jumped back and pulled her wand off of the counter, wielding it in her right hand and the knife in the other. Mrs. Weasley backed up a bit and put a hand to her chest, surprised. "Oh! Mrs. Weasley... You frightened me."

Hermione smiled shakily and placed both the knife and the wand back on the counter. "You've been in here nearly an hour, Hermione. Go back and join the Christmas party."

"Er..." Hermione struggled with words, not sure how to continue. She didn't get the chance though because Mrs. Weasley rushed on. "You have locked yourself in this kitchen the entire time and I am sure it is getting stuffy. I can finish in here."

Mrs. Weasley placed her hands on Hermione's back, applying gentle pressure to nudge her on her way. Hermione flashed her a rather fake smile, picked up her wand, and moved towards the heavy wooden door, ready to get back to the party.

"Hermione... Why didn't you use magic?"

Hermione smiled to herself and replied. "That would take all of the fun out of it." and with that she pushed open the door and walked back into the arms of the bane of her existence.

* * *

_A/N: There it is! I hope you enjoyed it! I hated one of my lines in there. It was necessary and I hated it. However, I could not word it much differently so... Review!_

_-Willful Destruction _


	30. Acceptance

**Prompt Thirty: Acceptance**

**...O...**

Death isn't something you accept quickly. It isn't something you manage to get over as soon as it happens. You go through the Five Stages of Grief, or so Hermione's therapist had said. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and then...Acceptance. Acceptance was that one goal that everyone wanted to reach with themselves but were too tired to put effort into.

_Hermione smiled sadly and raked her eyes over the gray and black gravestones, seeming to look for a specific one._ _She frowned and tilted her head to the side as she noticed a younger witch standing in the middle of the cemetery, doing the same thing she was-looking around for a grave. _

They looked for acceptance in different things-Their bodies, minds, and just their lives in general. They just wouldn't put in the effort to find it. They were too tired or just lazy. They sat back and waited for fate to determine everything.

_Hermione smiled when she recognized the girl to be Ginny Weasley and then it suddenly died as it hit her. It was _Ginny_, visiting Fred's grave. Her heart clenched and tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. She began walking towards her. _

But everyone wasn't like that. There were some who wanted to determine their own fate, make their own decisions, and have things happen when they wanted them to. They took what they wanted and made it theirs. They wanted the acceptance and they got it.

"_Hey." Ginny spoke softly when Hermione reached her. She didn't turn around. _

"_Hey." She responded, taking Ginny's hand. They stood in silence for a moment, just staring at Fred's black headstone. Finally Hermione looked over at Ginny and noticed that silent tears were rolling down her cheeks. She was sure that her face mirrored hers. _

"_What do you think he'd say if he was here right now?" Ginny whispered. _

_Hermione looked back at the headstone and tried imagining his face and his voice and what he would have said to her if he was standing there. "I don't know... He wouldn't want us crying though. Or missing him. I know that."_

"_Yeah." Ginny replied. "He'd want us smiling and laughing, the stupid idiot." A sob shuddered out of her and she rubbed her hands over her face. Hermione smiled and then said quietly, "We're going to be okay, you know?"_

_It took a few minutes but Ginny replied, "Yes."_

But in the end, one way or another, the acceptance always came.

**...O...**

_A/N: There it is. I hope you enjoyed it. Review. =]_

_-Willful Destruction _


	31. City

**Prompt Thirty-One: City**

**This is decent, I believe. My brother beta-d. Enjoy. **

**...O...**

Petunia had always loved the city. She had always loved the feeling of being part of something bigger and she enjoyed the noise and the fact that she was invisible there. Nobody noticed her. Nobody knew her. Well, it _used_ to be like that.

It had started three or so weeks after Harry had been brought to her house. Three weeks after she had received that letter and had known that she would be sucked back into _that_ world. That world of wizards, witches... Her _sister's_ world. She had been with Harry and Dudley, walking through a grocery store. They couldn't have been older than two at the time and then it happened.

She had been fussing with Dudders, trying to make him quit crying and then a little man, no taller than four feet, waddled over to her on his short legs, stopped, and stared. He had just stood there, staring at Harry who was holding onto the edge of the shopping cart. He was dressed in violet robes and wore a matching black hat. She hadn't noticed him at first, too preoccupied with her child to notice that Harry had walked over to the man on shaky legs and latched himself onto the man's robes and giggled.

"You look funny." Harry had said and then Petunia had looked over and spotted the man. He was bowing at that point, and gasping, overwhelmed with joy that he had been the one to see The Boy Who Lived.

Petunia had left then, shocked and screaming, leaving her cart to sit in the middle of the store, groceries still in it. It had gotten better since then. She had learned to ignore the little bows, the small gestures of recognition as she went about her daily duties. The wizards noticed her even when she wasn't with Harry. They always knew that she had been the one to raise Harry and they all knew that she was the one who hated him.

He reminded her of her sister. He reminded her of the other world out there and, most importantly, he reminded her of the letter she had gotten, saying that she couldn't be admitted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She hated him for that.

The cities weren't somewhere she could be invisible now. They weren't somewhere she could go to shop and forget, or a place where she could feel like a part of something bigger. No. She was recognized everywhere. Even if nobody came out and said anything, they knew her. Knew her face, her smile, and they knew the frowns that she gave them when they pointed at her or whispered behind their hands.

It was like being the infamous celebrity in a world you knew you weren't supposed to know existed. Petunia had hoped it would get better, had hoped that the whispers would stop but they didn't. She stopped visiting the cities.

**...O...**

_A/N: Damn you, word cap! Ugh. Sorry. This would have been better but the word count prevented me from giving this a better ending. Sorry. Hope you like it anyway. Review?_

_-Willful Destruction _


	32. Blue

**Prompt Thirty-Two: Blue**

_A/N: This is very short and pointless. Probably not written well because I couldn't really do much with the prompt. Anyway... -shrugs- Here it is! Enjoy. Review. _

_Word Count: 128_

Teddy Lupin didn't expect his quest for candy to go so wrong. They wouldn't give it to him and the logical reason at the time had been to hold his breath and force them to give it to him. They wouldn't let him die, right? They'd eventually give him what he wanted?

So he had done it. He held his breath as everyone in the room stared at him. He felt himself go light headed and then finally... _POP! _

...He turned blue. His lips didn't just turn blue, nor only his face. His entire body did. His skin turned a violet blue, as did his clothes, hair, toenails, fingernails-Everything. Everything was blue.

His breath shuddered out of him and he hit the floor with a _thump, _lightheaded, dizzy and confused.

This wasn't going to go well.


	33. Hear No Evil

**Prompt Thirty-Three: Hear No Evil**

…**.**

Hermione Granger's parents had always told her "Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil." and she had taken it to heart. She had always been the good girl, the one who raised her hand every time the teacher needed help and had minded her parents. She had always gotten the top grades and put smiles on her parents faces. She had been the goody-two shoes of every school she went too and it had been like breathing. Obeying the rules, listening to teachers, not stepping a toe out of line-It had all been natural for her. She had never got in trouble and then...he came along.

He had taunted her, toyed with her and then made her want to break the rules, ignore the teachers, and dance on the line. She wanted to prove to him that she wasn't a goody-two shoes, prove that she could be a dare devil just like him. Just like Draco Malfoy.

She looked down at the little vial she held in her hand. It was Veritsuem. Draco had given it to her and dared her to slip it into Snape's pumpkin juice at breakfast. She wondered if she should have done it, should have taken the risk of being expelled to-Whoa. She stopped there and frowned. She was not getting expelled. Putting that in Snape's juice? No way in hell. She had done good with not doing anything.

And still that little voice in the back of her mind nagged her, telling her she should have done it, should still do it. Peer pressure. That was what it was. What other reason would make her want to listen to Draco Malfoy? Yeah. That was it. Peer pressure.

She ignored the alternative answer-That she liked him and wanted him to like her too, and felt that the only way for that to happen was for her to impress him. Of course it would never happen. He was Draco Malfoy, for crying out loud, and she was Hermione Granger. Total opposites, living completely different and separate lives.

Hermione shook her head. Peer pressure. She placed the little bottle in her nightstand drawer, hoisted her book bag onto her shoulder, and exited her dormitory. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.

**...O...**

_A/N: I am not sure how good this one was but it was a little insight into Hermione and some stuff that never really happened. Erm, hopefully she wasn't OOC. Review?_

_Thanks,_

_Willful Destruction_


	34. Heartless

**Prompt Thirty-Four: Heartless**

…**..**

Cho Chang was heartless. After months of watching her drape herself over Terry Boot, Cedric Diggory, and Harry Potter, Ginny had come to the conclusion. She moved on as soon as she was bored, as soon as the person became uninteresting to her.

Cho had been dating Terry Boot and then when Cedric Diggory became available, she was after him. He had died and, in a few short weeks, she had moved on to Harry, completely forgetting about Cedric. Ginny stopped eating her soup and begrudgingly admitted that she might be a little biased and a little too harsh.

It hadn't really been a few short weeks. It was a month or so, at least, but still. She had seemed to forget Cedric and everything that they had supposedly had and moved onto the next juiciest meat she could get her grubby little paws on.

Ginny sighed aloud, causing a few people to turn and stare at her. She ignored them and instead glowered at the dark haired witch sitting at the Ravenclaw table, back to the Gryfinddor table. As if she could feel Ginny's eyes on her, Cho turned her back slightly, just enough so that she could see Ginny, a frown on her face. Like a three year old, Ginny stuck out her tongue, abandoned her dinner, picked up her book bag, and left the Great Hall.

_Heartless bitch. _

…**..**

_Word Count: 240_

_A/N: I am not positive how good this one turned out, as I have not slept in quite a bit and I wrote this simply because I knew that I had to get something out there soon. Regardless of whatever thoughts I might have on it, I hope you enjoyed this incredibly pointless drabble. Review, please._

_Thanks,_

_Willful Destruction _


	35. Light

**Prompt Thirty-Five: Light**

**...O...O...O...O...O...**

Since his first day in Hogwarts, Seamus had wanted to turn his pumpkin juice into rum. It had started after he had heard Percy Weasley discussing it with Hermione and how immature it was and then, after a few trips to the library, he was confident he could do it. It wasn't hard, really. Just a simple incantation and a flick of his wrist and then...viola! Rum.

He sat down in the Study Hall, a goblet of pumpkin juice (Taken from the kitchens, of course.) in front of him. He pulled out his wand and held it over, the goblet. He cast a quick look around the hall and saw that Snape was pestering some other poor student, completely oblivious to anything else going on. He was ready... He took a deep breath, his stomach tightening with nerves. It was just a simple spell! What was he waiting for? What could go wrong?

"_Animositas_." He muttered, flicking his wrist as he spoke. At first the goblet just glowed, a little light seeming to be lit under the juice. He ginned, leaning closer to the goblet, his eyes glowing. Then it...blew up. Seamus felt his eyebrows singe, his hair burn, and his face felt hot. He leaned back from the goblet, eyes wide, a shocked expression on his face as laughter filled the hall.

"Mr. _Finnagan_."

_Oh, fuck. _

**...O...O...O...O...O...**

_Word Count: 229_

_A/N: I have always wanted to write something like this, even if I knew it wouldn't come out great because it is (In my opinion) hard to turn that into something. Still, I enjoyed writing this and I hoped it wasn't awful. You might notice that I gave it an actual spell and, since he is a first year, it went wrong. Erm, still, review, please? Thanks. _

_-Willful Destruction _


	36. Obvious

**Prompt Thirty-Six: Obvious**

**...O...O...O...O...O...**

Sometimes Ginny wondered why other people couldn't see the hatred between her and Draco Malfoy. She had talked to Hermione once and she had been hell bent on thinking that they were in some magical romance and that they didn't really hate each other. No, of course they didn't! The hexing, the cursing, the punching, the snide comments-They all meant that they loved each other! It made perfect sense.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Yeah, right. They weren't in love. It was the opposite. They hated each other. Despised each other. And besides, Draco was with Pansy Parkinson and they seemed oh-so in love. Ginny felt an unwelcome jolt of resentment at the thought of Pansy Parkinson.

She sighed and buried further into the blankets on her bed. She frowned. She was jealous. Of what, she wasn't quite sure but she knew the feeling. She knew the tingling in her gut and she knew the itch in her hands as if she wanted to take action, win at something she wasn't quite sure she was competing for.

She raised her hands to her face and pressed her palms into her forehead. Her head was beginning to pound. She went through the list of things she could be jealous of Pansy for, resent her for-Her hair? No. It was too straight and greasy. Her clothes? Possibly. She had some beautiful robes. Her money? No. Ginny had made her own small fortune since she had graduated. Draco? Her mind automatically jumped to it before she had the chance to banish the possibility from her mind.

She grimaced. Definitely not. She hated Draco Malfoy... She sighed. _Right?_

**...O...O...O...O...O...**

_AN: Not my best, I don't think. I think I sort of strayed off of topic but I hated this prompt and didn't put too much effort into it. Still, I hope you enjoyed it! ^_^_

_Review, please and thank you._

_-Willful Destruction _


	37. Archaic

**Prompt Thirty-Seven: Archaic **

_The A/N: Not sure how good this it. Rather short. I got kind of lazy with it, I must admit. -headdesk- Still, there it is. Enjoy._

_(And review!)_

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Sirius Black ran his hands over the posters that hung on his wall and a sad smile appeared on his face. It seemed so long ago that he had lived in Grimwald Place, spent his time in that dreary room. Another smile, brighter this time, flashed over his face as he remembered the arguments with his parents over him decorating his room with red. It had been his stroke of rebellion. That and running away.

He moved over to the desk. Nothing was touched. Everything was in place, from the quill resting on a piece of parchment to the broom servicing kit that was balancing on the edge of it. He remembered everything in his room exactly as it was.

And it was all so..._old_. Archaic. Ancient. And yet nothing had changed. It looked as if a teenage boy could still live there, spending his time slaving over a broomstick and summer school work.

Sirius surveyed the room, debating whether or not he should take something with him or clean the room. He placed a hand on his bed and his hand sank lightly into the old mattress. No. This part in his life, this chapter in the book - It was over and done with. He wasn't a teenage boy any more. Far from it. It was time to move on.

And with that thought running through his head he turned on his heel and left the room, shutting the door behind him one last time.

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	38. Home

**Prompt Thirty-Eight: Home**

-Not my best work by a long shot. Enjoy.

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Somewhere on the outskirts of a little village a man stands, staring at rubble. This man is special. He has a scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt. He is a wizard. He is The Boy Who Lived, but that is not important to him at this moment.

He doesn't think of the war he has fought. He doesn't think of his victory. He doesn't think of those lost in the war. No, he thinks only of this pile of rubble, left there for years, undisturbed. It appears that nothing is special about this scene. It appears that a man is simply staring at the remains of a burned house.

This is not true. This was the man's house. The one in which he was born and the one in which he was taken from, never to return. But he returns now.

Tears well in his eyes as he thinks of his parents, murdered in the house that had once stood on the outskirts of the town, magnificent and beautiful. The tears streak down his face, glistening in the soft light cast by the moon overhead.

He moves slowly at first, his movements careful and precise but at the same time jerky and unsure. But as he places his hand on the rickety gate, he isn't shaking. His hand is still and sure and his face is hard. The old wood creaks as he pushes the gate open and steps into the ring of ash and burned wood.

His face gives way to emotion and his eyes fill with tears once more even as he smiles slightly. This was his home once, he thinks. And now he has returned to it.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	39. Fun and Games

**Prompt Thirty-Nine: Fun and Games**

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The water was still, no ripples or bubbles appearing on its surface, nor splashes from the Triwizard Champion's feet as they disappeared underwater. Everything was quiet as if the audience were holding its breath.

_Okay_, Lee Jordan thought, _up to him to put an end to the silence._ Silence was bad. No jokes, whispers, or - he shuddered - _laughter_. Laughter was like oxygen to him and the twins, Fred and George Weasley. They needed it to survive.

Lee stepped to the microphone, aware of Professor Stick-Up-Her-Ass watching him. "Well, folks-" he began... And then he was cut off.

A gasp ran through the crowd, and then a kid shouted something Lee couldn't hear from so far away. He moved to the edge of the dock and craned his neck, trying to get a good look at what was causing such a fuss.

Fleur Delacour was clutching the edge of the wooden dock, gasping for air as she resurfaced. She was splashing wildly and then suddenly she screamed and jumped onto the deck. She whipped her leg around and a Grindylow flew off of her, skidding through the group of students. She had a bite mark on her upper thigh that was bleeding.

Lee Jordan smiled and spoke into the microphone. "It's all fun and games until someone gets eaten."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_Word Count: 240_

_A/N: Not sure how accurate this was with the book and everything, as I have not read the fourth one in a while and I wrote this really, really fucking late at night. However, I hope it was good and enjoyable to read. I am not good at humor... Sorry. _

_Review? _

_Thanks much,_

_Willful Destruction_


	40. Clothes

**Prompt Forty: Clothes**

_A/N: For me this was a lousy prompt. The idea was too simple and far too bland but I was too tired to but in much effort into something more spectacular. On the bright side we have reached prompt forty! Cheer! ^_^_

_I hope you enjoy(ed) this! _

_-Des_

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If there was one thing Hermione Granger was going to miss in her transition to a witch, it was going to be her clothes. She had never had close friends or incredibly fascinating subjects in school. She could still see her parents, extended family, and go on vacations, so her clothes were one of the few things she was going to mourn.

In Hogwarts you wore black robes with a jumper underneath. There wouldn't be jeans or t-shirts anymore. No pretty dresses or skirts. None. Zip. Zilch. Of course, her clothes were a small price to pay for being a part of their world. Of being a witch and attending Hogwarts, one of the finest schools you could get into.

Still, all that didn't take away the small pang of sadness as she tucked her favorite jeans and t-shirt back into the white dresser. She sighed and walked to the door, her hand resting on the light switch. She cast one more look around the room, taking it in. Then she smiled, flicked off the lights and excited the room.

There was always summer vacation.

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	41. Servant

**Prompt Forty-One: **Servant

_A/N: Not very impressive. This prompt was so-so for me and, really, I am just hoping that this is written decently enough to pass as good but I don't really care if it gets less than an okay. I disliked it myself. -shrugs- _

_I hope you enjoy(ed) it. Review?_

* * *

Hermione Granger slumped against the cold wall, a box of S.P.E.W badges clutched in her left hand. It was hopeless. Completely and utterly _hopeless_. Nobody saw the horror in the house-elves lives. Nobody saw how cruel their masters were and how mistreated they were. Other people saw them as nothing. The bottom of the barrel. The slaves. They hardly considered them worth their attention, much less as creatures who should have rights.

She let out a small moan of defeat and dropped her head into her hands. Nobody cared. House-elves were treated brutally and _nobody cared_. She shook her head in disgust and sat back up against the wall. It was cruel. Cruel and heartless. And the house-elves didn't seem to _want_ to be free.

She didn't understand it and if there was one thing Hermione Granger hated more than any other it was not understanding things. It didn't make _sense_. They were mistreated, abused, thought of as slaves and treated as such and they didn't _care_. They seemed happy but she knew they weren't. How could someone be happy in those living conditions?

She sighed and massaged her temples. She didn't suppose she was going to find the answer any time tonight. She should already be back in her dormitory anyway. It was getting dangerously close to lights out and she'd almost been caught my Filch last night returning from the library. She sighed again and stood up, ready to hit the sack and find her answers in the morning.


	42. Roots

**Prompt Forty-Two: Roots**

_A/N: Short. Written quickly. Un-beta-d. Late night. Enjoy._

_

* * *

Okay_, Seamus thought. Maybe he wasn't the best kid in the class and he hated most all potions with a passion, but this was getting _ridiculous_. How was he supposed to know that you were supposed to shave the roots into a fine powder instead of tossing in the small bits?

He rolled his eyes and then frowned at himself in the mirror, studying the green hair he now sported, the swollen side of his face, and the white bandage the Madam Pumphrey had put over the nasty, infected cut he had received. She had said everything should go back to normal in a few days. There was nothing she could do for that potion explosion.

He sighed. Actually reading the textbook for once might be nice.


	43. Too Easy

**Prompt Forty-Three: Too Easy**

-I am officially ten drabbles behind Boogum, who I am kind of assuming is right where I should be... Well, or reasonably close to her... XD

* * *

Draco smirked and picked his glass of Scotch up off the bar counter. He had been eying a curvy blonde for the last twenty minutes, nursing his glass as he watched her throw him little signs of encouragement - Flipping her hair, jutting her chest out, et cetera.

He snorted. As if he needed encouragement to walk up to her and tell her to fuck him. A small smile appeared on his face and he brought the glass to his lips. He could have any woman in the club and he knew it. The blonde wasn't the only one trying to get his attention - There was a brunette dancing a few feet away and another blonde leaning up against the bar counter, both trying to gain his attention.

"See something you like, Malfoy?" Someone said. He looked over lazily, raising an eyebrow at the man who had taken a seat next to him. Harry. He should have known.

He rolled his eyes. "It's too _easy_," he complained instead of answering the question. He didn't have to try, something he supposed he should be grateful for... But it was oh-so boring.

Harry shook his head. "I don't think I have ever once heard anyone whine that getting laid was too easy," he said, laughter laced in his voice. When Draco didn't reply he continued, "I bet you can't get that one into bed."

Draco raised his eyebrows and followed Harry's finger. He was pointing to a brunette in the corner, talking to a guy, holding a glass she obviously hadn't touched in her hands. _Easy_, Draco thought.

"Watch me."

He set down his glass again and sauntered over to the girl, not caring that there was already a guy with her. He could get rid of him if he wanted. He snorted and then turned on the charm - The bedroom eyes, the lazy, confident demeanor that the females seemed to like.

"Hello," he said quietly, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.

In that moment he expected her to turn around and smile at him, offer him her hand. Then he would ask her to dance and she would be done for. What he did not expect was to see Hermione Granger's brown eyes staring up at him.

"Oh _shit_," he muttered.

"Hello, Draco."

* * *

_Word Count: 397 (According to OpenOffice)_

_A/N: No comment, really. This prompt was... eh. Decent. I hope you enjoyed it! Review, would you? Thanks. You're amazing._

_-Willful Destruction _


	44. Insane

**Prompt Forty-Four: Insane**

_A/N: Once you read the ending, kindly review. I want opinions on this piece because I might go back and edit it, make it longer, and then its own fic. Not sure. Anyway, for the record, the character in this is the Muggle Studies teacher Voldemort tortured and fed to Nagini. _

_On that happy note, please continue reading! _

* * *

Charity was slowly going insane. The Dark Lord had tortured her to the point where she was begging him to kill her, to end the suffering.

He never did. He kept up the torture, kept the pain coming just enough so that she was lucid but barely, able to answer questions but not walk or try escaping. He like the torture, she had realized early on. He liked to hear her yell and writhe because then he felt like he was in control.

She had tried ignoring the pain. Tried to keep herself from making a sound so that he wouldn't get that satisfaction.

It hadn't worked.

And, oh God, it hurt. Her muscles would tightened and scream in pain while tears ran down her cheeks. She had stopped begging eventually, stopped answering his questions, because she knew that in the end she was going to die. That there was no mercy in the Dark Lord and he would kill her once she proved useless to him.

The torture became a ritual and soon she had stopped feeling anything. The tearing of her muscles and the feeling that her body was being ripped apart eventually dulled. She stopped screaming, stopped answering his questions.

She was lifeless, an insane dummy that he tortured on routine. She couldn't feel. She couldn't scream. She couldn't cry. She couldn't think, mourn the loss of her mind and life. All she could do was hope that soon he would cast that last spell, Advada Kedavra, and then it would all be over.

* * *

_Word Count: 307 (According to OpenOffice)_


	45. Clouds

**Prompt Forty-Five: Clouds**

* * *

"_Come _on_, Draco," the redhead urged, standing a few feet away from him in the corridor. "Come on! It's simple, Malfoy. See, you pick up one foot and place-" _

_Ginny never got to finish the sentence because a very irritated Malfoy stepped forward, snapping back at her, "I know how to walk, considering I've been doing it for the last seventeen years of my life." _

_She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. "_Really_? You didn't seem to be able to function properly just then. Should I explain the mechanics of walking to you again? It's quite simple, really. You just -" _

_He cut her off again, practically growling at her. "Drop it, Weasley." _

_She rolled her eyes and sighed, giving up. "Fine. I'm done begging." And with that she strode down the corridor and out the wide, wooden_ -

Draco Malfoy shot up in bed, sweat pouring off of him. His heart appeared to be beating double time and he was dizzy. And then he dropped his head into his hands, breaking down in sobs.

That dream... It was reoccurring, coming to him every other night since her death. Since she had left him. It had been years ago, when he was twenty-one. She had been captured by an escaped death-eater and murdered.

His body wracked with sobs again. That scene, that moment now remembered in perfect clarity, haunted him. Nothing else did. He didn't think about not having saved her or kept her in that night. He didn't think of any other mistakes he had made, things he should have done before she passed on and left him to drown in Scotch.

No, the only guilt left with him now was refusing to look at the clouds with Ginny Weasley one last time those thirteen years ago.

* * *

_Word Count: 306 (According to OpenOffice WC)_

_A/N: That was...emotionally draining, to say the least. I am still not sure it turned out right. I stayed up all night, trying to perfect this drabble... -shakes head- Still not sure how well it turned out._

_Anyway, I have a request! If there is a drabble that you would like me to continue either into a multi-chaptered fic or complete as a one-shot, tell me. I need some stuff to write and I figured that I could knock out some requests (I know I _have_ gotten a few to extend drabbles already.) and get more to write at the same time. =]_

_Reviews are love!_

_-Willful Destruction_


	46. Challenge

**Prompt Forty-Six: Challenge**

-First official, legit drabble.

* * *

Hermione sighed. Why had she agreed to do this? Oh, yeah! She was an _idiot_. A moron. She groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

_What the hell is wrong with you, Hermione? You wanted a challenge but this? No way..._

"Go on Hermione. Or are you too scared?" Ginny said, taunting her. If Hermione didn't know better, she would be offended, pissed off. But this was Ginny.

Shooting a death glare over her shoulder, Hermione walked over to the blond haired boy she had always despised and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey. Malfoy? Want to go to dinner with me on Friday?"


	47. Sight

**Prompt Forty-Seven: Sight**

-Not my best. Definitely not my best. Still, I sort of have a special place in my heart for this because I cried, even though it isn't _that _sad... Enjoy.

-Word Count: 105

* * *

Sometimes Hannah wondered what the world really looked like. She only saw a chunk of it in her little bubble of England. If cake were the world, she would have only seen a small slice of it.

She wondered if the other countries were really as beautiful as the pictures showed or if they were just for show and there were indeed worse parts where fugitives dwelt. She wondered if there were places truly covered in ice or if it was simply an exaggeration.

One thing was positive though. Hannah would never see it. Because, as a death eater ran at her, holding up his wand to curse her, she took her last breath and then saw no more.


	48. Flowers

**Prompt Forty-Eight: Flowers**

_-I am getting better at doing like, real drabbles. One hundred words an all that. _

_Also, I am pretty much caught up with updates, so I probably won't be spamming your inboxes again anytime soon. _

_Enjoy. _

* * *

_Flowers... _Draco sighed. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought that someday he would be out buying flowers for Ginny Weasley. He grimaced. _Flowers. _

He sighed and looked up at the botanist. "What would you suggest?"

She smiled. She had bright blue hair and purple eyes. _Strange things, Muggles.._. "What is the occasion?"

"I need to apologize to my girlfriend," he admitted, dropping his head in shame.

"Ah," she said knowingly. "White tulips are most likely your best bet. They mean forgiveness." She smiled at him.

"Give me a dozen," he muttered.


	49. More

**Prompt Forty-Nine: More**

* * *

"_More?" _Ron said, disbelieving. "They want us to do _more work_?" His eyes were wide as he dropped his book bag on the table and sunk down into a chair by the fire.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly Ronald, it isn't that much! Just a few essays, that project for Snape, the extra credit for McGonagall..." she trailed off and sighed, catching the boys' expressions. "Well, we'll never get it done if we don't go ahead and start."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You two have rounds. You're prefects now, remember? You can start for at least another hour," he said, smirking as the realization hit his two friends.

"Oh, bloody hell."

* * *

...No comment.


	50. Love

**Prompt Fifty: Love**

* * *

Love was not logical and that was what Hermione Granger hated about it. She hated that she had no control over it, because, on the contrary, it seemed to control _her. _

She sighed and shifted in the bed, trying to block the red-head from her mind. Love was stupid. There wasn't any rationality in it. It didn't make sense. It was _unfathomable_.

She rolled her eyes and stared up at the canopy of her bed. You had no choice over who you fell in love with. She, for example, had fallen for the wrong Weasley. Her hands came up and covered her face.

Oh, God, this was awful.

_Charlie_? she thought, groaning. She was _not_ in love with Charlie Weasley because it did not make sense. She didn't care what he said. Or her malfunctioning brain said. Or _anyone_ said, for that matter.

She huffed out a breath, annoyed, and curled into the blankets.

_Love. Psh. Yeah, right. _

* * *

No comment, actually.


	51. Anent

**Prompt Fifty-One: Anent**

**

* * *

**

When Draco left the Slytherin common room he intended to make a quick visit to the kitchens and then head off to the library to return a few books. After that he would got to the Owlery, send a letter, and then _finally_ sleep.

The day had been exhausting and sluggish. The air was hot and humid and he felt as if his brain had been fried from the boring work his teachers insisted upon. On top of that he had had history class and, God, everyone knew that was the worst class to have on a day as sluggish as this.

All in all? He had been bored to tears.

He rolled his eyes and took the stairs two at a time to the kitchens. He tickled the pear and entered. Immediately a house-elf came to him and offered him food. He accepted, distracted. There was something very much human sitting in the corner, sobbing. He frowned, considering the pros and cons of asking what was wrong.

Draco sighed, his curiosity getting the best of him, and walked over to them. It was a girl sitting in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees and head bent into them. He frowned. She looked familiar.

"Hey," he said softly, crouching next to her. She didn't look up. "So... You're crying."

Her head shot up and she glared at him. Her eyes were puffy, red, and black streaks from her mascara were on her cheeks. "Obviously, jack-ass. Did you come over here to make fun of me? Of course you did, Malfoy, and, frankly, I don't give a damn. Grow a pair and get the fuck away from me. It doesn't concern you."

Now he recognized her. It was Ginny Weasley, the one and only Weaslette. He rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Fine. You're right. It doesn't concern me," and with that he stood up and left the kitchens, completely forgetting about his food.

But, really, it was a beautiful exit and he could not ruin it by marching back in for food.

* * *

Finish.

Word Count: 346


	52. Corner

**Prompt Fifty-Two: Corner**

* * *

The intent, Hermione thought, was pure. She needed to return a few books to the library. Sure it was late and she should be sleeping but what did that matter? She wasn't going to get caught and she could be in and out quickly.

Or so she had thought. What she had found had been rather... terrifying.

She had quietly opened the library door and crept down an aisle. She placed her books on the shelf and turned to leave - and then she heard it. _Giggling_. She frowned. Who would be down here this late? Well, besides herself, she thought, a blush warming her cheeks.

Hermione bit her lip and then, hearing male laughter this time, crept down the aisle and through the library. Soon the laughter disappeared and, as she got further into the library, she began to think she must have imagined it. Coming here late at night always made her anxious and jumpy. She hated breaking rules, even over something as simple as this.

She turned to go and then she heard moans. She frowned. _Moans... This isn't right... _

She bit her lip again and then continued further into the library. She knew she had heard that. And the giggling. Her eyes widened. Again? She sighed and lit her wand. She covered her hand over the tip of it, dimming the light, but leaving enough to see.

Oh God, would she have given anything not to be there that moment. She wished she had stayed in bed and opted to return the book in the morning. She wished that, as soon as she had hear the laughing, she had turned and ran to her common room.

Unfortunately, she hadn't done any of those things and there she had been, staring straight at Draco Malfoy pressing Ginny Weasley up against the wall, half naked, various articles of clothing scattered on the floor.

Her first instinct was to drop the wand and cover her eyes.

"Oh. My... God."

* * *

**Word Count: 336**


	53. Guilt

**Prompt Fifty-Three: Guilt**

**

* * *

**

Sometimes Seamus doesn't know what hurts most - The pain in his leg after it has been shot off by a Death Eater or the guilt that dominates his mind. The ratio shifts but now...

He shakes his head and tears begin to fall on his cheeks.

For now the guilt has won because he knows he has let Hannah die. He has let her die because he is too scared to move, too scared to take action and save her. He is too scared.

But he had been given the chance to save her.

And he did not take it.

He closes his eyes.

It it his fault.

* * *

_Word Count: 109 (according to OpenOffice word count)_


	54. Prisoner

**Prompt Fifty-Four: Prisoner**

**

* * *

**

_This is absolutely ridiculous, _Hermione thought, peering around the holding cell in Malfoy Manor. You couldn't take a person hostage! There had to be some lines drawn, some things you shouldn't be able to do simply because you were human.

She snorted. Well, if you could call the Malfoy's humans. But then that would throw her entire basis off because, if there were lines for humans, then only the non-humans would do take people hostage because they're not human and don't have the same rules to follow. And, besides, why would someone who has some grain of human emotion take someone prisoner in the first place?

She groaned. God, this cell must have fried her brain cells. She ran through her multiplication tables, listed ingredients to various potions, thought of incantations for the spells she wanted to use on Draco Malfoy at the moment...and she ended up being more bored than anything else.

She had never thought of what it would be like to be a prisoner but she imagined that if she had she would have suspected more talking with the captor, witty remarks, a slight case of Stockholm Syndrome, and then, finally, a rescue.

She chuckled and it rang out in the quiet. _Yeah, right._

In reality she ended up slumped on the wall, arms wrapped around her knees, head bent into them, wondering when she would finally be able to sleep.

So there she sat in the dark holding cell under the Malfoy Manor, prisoner.

* * *

**Word Count: 251 (according to OpenOffice)**


	55. Craft

**Prompt Fifty-Five: Craft**

**

* * *

**

"This is..." Hermione grunted, "..._impossible_!"

She couldn't believe she'd agreed to do this. Just couldn't believe it... She had never been one for double dates and yet here she was, sitting at a potter's wheel, attempting to create..._something_.

"Oh come on, Granger! It's fun!" Draco said, laughing at her distress while he worked at his bowl expertly. Hermione shot him a glare and looked over at Ginny saying, "How can you _stand_ him?"

Ginny, red hair falling into her eyes, turned and glared at Draco as well. "I don't know, Hermione. As far as I am concerned he is a bastard for bringing me here. I've never been one for arts and crafts!"

"Ditto," Harry murmured, looking up at Hermione. "Babe, we're never doing one of _these_ again."

Hermione snorted. "Of course not! Gah, _dammit_! What the _fuck_ is this?" she exclaimed, removing her hands and looking at the big glob of clay.

She turned to Ginny and said, a glare on her face, "I'm out of here." Ginny nodded in agreement and followed Hermione out of the room.

They had never been for arts and crafts.

* * *

_Word Count: 191_


	56. Misfortune

**Prompt Fifty-Six: Misfortune**

**

* * *

**

Hermione sighed. She just didn't get it. She had always fantasized about what it would be like to have an older brother or sister. She had always imagined that they would be so nice and smart and someone she could look up to. Or if they were younger than her then she always imagined that she would play the perfect role model and teach them everything they needed to know.

Yes, Hermione Granger had always wanted a brother or sister. Being the only child was...boring, to say the least. You did everything alone, never had someone to _really_ talk to, someone who understood it.

And yet, as she despaired over being the only child, she heard Ginny and Ron always discussing their misfortune at having siblings. She had never understood it. She had always envied them. They had such a big family and everyone seemed so close...

They had always told her during these fights how lucky she was to be an only child. She had always disagreed. It just seemed so lovely to have siblings...

She sighed and sat awkwardly to the side, watching the Weasley's go at it.

Perhaps not.

* * *

_Word Count: 193_

_A/N: Not sure about this one. The ending was rather... unsatisfying. _


	57. Plot

**Prompt Fifty-Seven: Plot**

**

* * *

**

"I can't believe you became a writer, Granger," Charlie said, propping himself on her desk. "Completely unexpected."

"How is it unexpected, _Weasley?_" Hermione replied, rolling her eyes and leaning back from her laptop. She rubbed her eyes. She had been staring at the laptop for hours, attempting to come up with something to write about.

She had found nothing.

Charlie turned over on the desk to his stomach and put his face close to hers. "We all expected you to be a doctor at St. Mungos or create a House-Elf Liberation group, not write."

She rolled her eyes again and leaned forward to get the laptop, dragging it onto her lap and glaring at the screen. She needed a plot...

"Well, writing is more-" she paused, her hands flying across the keys, "-_fulfilling_." She looked up for a moment, taking the time to glare at Charlie, and then back down at the laptop. "Goddamn you!"

Charlie stared at her. "Yeah. _Really_ fulfilling."

* * *

_Word Count: 181_

_A/N: Late night. Trying to catch up to Boogum, lol. _


	58. Pen to Paper

**Prompt Fifty-Eight: Pen to Paper**

**

* * *

**

Hermione closed her laptop and rested her forehead on her crossed arms. Her eyes ached from sitting in the dark office for hours, attempting to continue her new novel. Her publicist was really pressing her for this one and now it appeared that she had an awful case of Writer's Block.

She sighed and leaned back in her seat. She hated using her laptop. She frowned. Well, that wasn't quite true. She actually loved it. But after staring at it for so long, writing word after word, slowly getting sleep-deprived... That was what she hated about it.

She smiled and picked the quill up off of her desk. It felt right in her hands and suddenly she felt nostalgic. When she had been in Hogwarts she had always missed having a laptop to write her essays on instead of doing them by hand, taking multiple rolls of parchment for each draft. And now that she had her laptop she wished she had her quill back to write with.

Looking down at the quill, Hermione considered the fact that maybe she should write with her quill again. She would have to convert everything over to her laptop afterwards (Her publicist was Muggle after all.) but it seemed almost worth it at this point.

She smiled, pulled her computer chair closer to the desk, reached over for a roll of parchment, and set to writing.

* * *

_Word Count: 287_

_A/N: You know what happens when you stay up till six am and then wake up at eight-thirty am and then try writing something? You get this. Yes, _this_. I kind of strayed from the prompt, yes, I realize this, but I have done worse, I believe. Anyone read 'anger'? Yesh._

_-Willful Destruction _


	59. Stars

**Prompt Fifty-Nine: Stars**

**

* * *

**

Ginny crept out of the Kitchens, down the hallway, through the large double-doors, and, finally, across the wide lawn, feeling her way across the wet ground. With the small platter of sandwiches in her hands and her wand in her pocket, the risk of falling over seemed large but after doing this exact thing for so long eventually she knew where to step and when to swerve away from trees in her way or roots that stuck up from the ground.

Occasionally, when certain constellations were in the sky, she would sneak out of her dormitory and sit by the lake. It was beautiful, she thought. Completely and utterly gorgeous. And the food made it that much better.

Ginny snorted, took the last few steps towards her tree, circled it, and... stopped dead in her tracks. _Oh, fuck, _she thought. _What the hell is _he_ doing here? _

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" she said, glaring at the Malfoy in front of her with distaste.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here, _Weasley_?" Draco sneered back at her.

"I always come here!" Ginny responded, annoyance coloring her tone. _Jesus, what now? Leave? No way in hell. Not even an _option_. This was _her_ place._

"Sure. Yeah, right. Then how come I've never seen you, hm?" he said cockily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Guess I just got lucky," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. Nothing to do now but ignore him, she supposed. She didn't exactly have the energy to fight with him and she was not going to leave. And, it appeared, neither was he. She sighed and sat down, leaning her back on the tree. She placed the platter of sandwiches next to her and looked up.

"You gonna sit or just stare at me?"

* * *

_Word Count: 239_

_A/N: Slightly strange formatting. I apologize. ^^_


	60. Judging

**Prompt Sixty: Judging**

**

* * *

**

"Have you _seen_ her hair? She looks like a fire truck!" they whispered.

They didn't know her.

"She's _poor_," they said, turning their noses away.

They didn't know her.

"Have you seen her robes? They look like my grandmother's!" they would tell each other.

They didn't know her.

"Her books are falling apart," they laughed.

They didn't know her.

"She's a blood traitor," they said, disgusted.

Ginny Weasley hated being judged.

They didn't know her.

* * *

W_ord Count: 83_


	61. Hello

**Prompt Sixty-One: Hello**

**

* * *

**

"Hey," Hermione said, coming to a stop next to Draco in the kitchen. She maneuvered herself around the tiny space and to the fridge.

"Bonjour," he responded. Hermione grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned up against the counter as she watched Draco cook.

"Haai," she said, raising and eyebrow, silently challenging him. It was a morning ritual by now to see who knew how to say hello in more languages. A quite ridiculous competition yes, but it was fun.

"Aloha."

"Hola."

"Ni hao."

"Guten Tag."

"Kalimera."

"Marhaba."

"Terve."

Hermione frowned and took a drink from the water bottle, buying time while she ran through her mental list of languages she knew. She wanted to kick herself as she brought the water bottle down from her lips.

"I," she said, accepting defeat, "do not know that language. What is it?"

"Finnish."

_Dammit_. _Finnish?_ Hermione sighed, rolled her eyes, snagged a piece of bacon from the skillet, and left the room, leaving a very smug Draco in her wake.

* * *

_Word Count: 170_

_A/N: Once more I apologize for the odd format and not-so-great idea. Oh, and also I am sorry Karla for doing Dramione again. *snickers* _

_For the record, I don't really know any of these languages. I used Google and found different ways to say 'hello'... /end failure_


	62. Break Away

**Prompt Sixty-Two: Break Away**

**

* * *

**

Ron Weasley glared out at the yard in front of him fairly pissed off. He was sick of this shit. Nothing he ever did was good enough. Either that or someone had already done it, he thought bitterly. His family was so large that most everything had been done by one of the older up Weasleys, so you were repeating just about everything.

It was bloody frustrating. There wasn't much he could do to be separate from his family, which was what he wanted. He had already pretty much followed in his brother's steps at Hogwarts and now that he was out of school there didn't seem much else he could do.

As a wizard, there were few jobs worth getting and sticking to. You could work in the Ministry, own a successful wizardry shop, become a dragon trainer, or work at one of the wizard schools. All already done by his siblings.

He shook his head in disgust. Every other job was something such as working in a pub or being an assistant, neither of which he had any interest in doing. So here he was, thirty-one years old, trying to find something to do with his life that one of his family members hadn't done before.

Jesus, he needed to get away. Get away from his family, from his friends, from everything. Just for a little while of course, just until he managed to do something with his life.

He needed to break away.

* * *

_Word Count: 246_

_A/N: Of course the brooding, over-shadowed Ron Weasley. ^^ Er, not sure how well this turned out. I think there might have been some awkward wording here and there, which is one of my problems. -bites lip-_


	63. Giving

_**Prompt Sixty-Three: Giving**_

_**

* * *

**_

Harry Potter sighed and dropped his head into his hands. He was tired of giving, giving back to everyone, doing what was expected of him because of his past. It got tiring, stupid, annoying.

He had always been happy to help his fellow wizards and witches but soon, when nothing really changed, the giving got exhausting, a wish he felt obligated to fulfill because if not he would be thought down upon.

And it was true. If Harry ever quit helping, quit putting himself in the line of fire simply to help everyone else. . . nobody would think good of him again, despite everything he had done in the past.

He supposed he owned it to the wizarding community though. They had taken him in, clothed him, welcomed him as one of their own, and even praised him before he even managed to do anything. If he had the power to help them and to set things right, then he had to do it.

But, God, did it get exhausting, repetitive. Fighting, constantly fighting, all to reach a seemingly impossible goal. Jesus, was it stressful.

Harry sighed again and closed his eyes, leaning back in the plush Common Room chair.

He was tired of giving.

* * *

_Word Count: 206_

_A/N: Er, eek. . . I think there is some awkward wording. Sorry 'bout that. ^^_

_-Desmia_


	64. Competitor

**Prompt Sixty-Four: Competitor**

**

* * *

**

Draco Malfoy had always been competitive. It was why he was so good at Quidditch. He always wanted to win, wanted to be the best he could be and then even better. But there is one problem once you go so high that you are the best – You don't have any competition. Everything seems easier, something you could do in your sleep because, eventually, nobody is going to be good enough to beat you. And once someone comes along that is even decent competition then you wanted to beat them too and if you were determined enough then you did.

Then you were right back where you were before. And it was boring.

But Ginny Weasley never seemed to manage to bore him. She always seemed to keep him on his toes. Their "competitions" were, of course, verbal, small arguments here and there but they were always interesting, something he found he looked _forward_ to everyday.

She was his perfect competitor.

* * *

_Word Count: 165_


	65. Surface

**Prompt Sixty-Five: Surface**

**

* * *

**

_This. Is. Exhausting, _Hannah Abbott thought, cursing. She dropped her heavy book bag on the floor next to her and leaned against the wall. The hallway was empty and she could rest for a few seconds, finally, before she had to run off to her potions class.

Life at Hogwarts was always insane and tiresome, full of gossip and excitement. The Quidditch matches brought a lot of drama and fights, teams taking shots at each other while the Houses rivaled against each other. Needless to say, the school was exciting enough without the classes, the homework, and the extracurricular activities.

And that had been before Hannah's sixth year. She had thought that her fifth year would be the worst of it all but now, as she stood against the wall, exhausted, lugging a fifty-pound book bag, she thought that last year had been a breeze. Now that the O. were over, professors were preparing them for their N.E.W.T.s, giving them tons of homework and cranking up the classes to where they were hard as hell.

It was, she thought again, exhausting. Completely and utterly tiring, draining. As she tried to stay above the surface, Hannah sacrificed most of her social life and the library had become her second home.

She had always been a top student, one of the ones people expected to make the top grades. Failing wasn't acceptable. It was completely-

"Miss Abbott? You have a potions class to get to, do you not?"

Hannah jerked up and looked around the hallway, panicked. Her eyes landed on Professor Mcgonagall, tight lipped and glaring.

"Yes, professor," she murmured. So she picked up her book bag and ran down the hall, desperate to escape one teacher. She just didn't realize that she was going into the arms of another.

* * *

_Word Count: 301_


	66. Dark

**Prompt Sixty-Six: Dark**

**

* * *

**

He was dark. She was light.

He was cold. She was warm.

He was ice. She was fire.

He was rich. She was poor.

He was mean. She was nice.

Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley were complete opposites, living in different worlds with different emotions, different thoughts, and different ideas.

But maybe what they say is true: Opposites attract.

* * *

_Word Count: 64_

_A/N: This is incredibly short. I know. But is IS a drabble... ^^ _


	67. Taste

**Prompt Sixty-Seven: Taste**

**

* * *

**

As Charlie took a swig of his Firewhiskey he thought nothing of the taste and only of the burning in his throat and the ache in his chest.

She was gone. His Hermione was gone. She'd up and left, removing every trace of herself from his house, disappearing.

He dropped his head onto his arms and groaned. His head ached and his legs felt like lead. He couldn't think straight.

God, he could smell her on him even through the alcohol. He felt as if she were sitting by him, running fingers through his hair like she had had a tendency to do.

He wanted to see her. Smell her hair, touch her face. He wanted to hold her again and this time he wouldn't let go.

God, where had he gone wrong? What had he said to make her leave? Was he so awful that she felt the need to leave without a reason, a warning?

His brain, affected as it was by the Firewhiskey, didn't appear to be working and he closed his eyes. God, he was tired. So tired...

He stood up, dropping a few coins on the bar counter, and stumbled out of the bar, completely confused and his vision blurry.

As he Disapperated, his thoughts jumbled and unclear, only one really stood out and that the was the simple fact that he had to get Hermione back. Needed to.

* * *

_Word Count: 283_


	68. Fixed

**Prompt Sixty-Eight: Fixed**

**

* * *

**

When Hermione was a very young girl she broke a vase. It had been specially made for her mother by her grandmother for her birthday and Hermione had been terrified to tell her parents. As it turned out, she hadn't had to. They had found it broken into three large pieces under her bed.

After a stern talking to about hiding things from parents, Hermione's father had taken her and gone to a shop with the broken vase and handed it to the man behind the counter. Later, when they returned to the shop, the vase was given back to them in perfect condition. It had been fixed. And it was then that she developed the belief that most anything could be fixed.

Her belief had strengthened when she'd been told she was a witch and had learned every spell possible to repair things. So, to her, everything was fixable. Nothing that was broken couldn't be mended.

That had stuck with her for years until she met Draco Malfoy. She'd hated him at first – the snide comments, the insults, the overall nastiness of him. And then after a few mistakes, she'd stopped and started taking pity upon him.

His father was awful and Hermione guessed that his mother wasn't much better. He'd been raised as a Death Eater's son and expected to be awful and cruel. He had always been taught that muggle-borns were beneath him, something unworthy of recognition.

So she'd pitied him. And she'd thought that she could fix him. But, after years and years of being kind and attempting to heal him, she'd given up. He'd never given her a kind word or shown any warmth, no matter what she did. He stayed cruel and out of reach, completely cold.

He, she had reluctantly decided, was not fixable. He wasn't broken. He was ruined. With that revelation came the reality that not everything could be fixed by a spell and that not every person could be mended by kind words or simply sitting with them. No, some things were ruined and nothing could be done for them.

Hermione's chest ached.

Ruined. Not broken.

* * *

_Word Count: 357_

_A/N: The ending could be better, I think. But I'm not sure how to do that, lol. _


	69. Hate

_**Prompt Sixty-Nine: Hate**_

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**

"Having fun, Granger?" Draco Malfoy said, appearing in the doorway of Snape's classroom and smirking at her.

Hermione looked up from the desk she was wiping down with a wet rag and glared at him. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco sauntered across the room and ended up leaning against the desk Hermione was supposed to be cleaning. "What? Hermione Granger in detention? How could I not come and watch the show?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You should be in here, not me. It was your fault. The potion exploded. It was your fault that it went all over Snape. See the common denominator here, Malfoy? It's you. Your fault. Not mine," she said, shoving Draco off the desk and going back to cleaning the desk. She had to do it by hand and, though Snape had long since left the classroom, she knew that if she sneaked and did it with magic he would figure out and she so did not need that.

"Sure, Granger," he replied, stretching the word out. Abruptly he leaned over and jerked the pail of water off from the desk and put it behind him.

Hermione let out a frustrated growl. He wanted to _play_. "I. Hate. You."

Draco's head jerked up and his eyes grew wide. Then he snorted and that smirk was back. "No, you don't."

Hermione frowned. "Yes, I do."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes! Now leave me the hell alone before-"

Suddenly she was cut off because Draco had dragged her against his chest and... kissed her. Her mind went blank. _Oh, bloody hell... _As his mouth worked against hers, her eyes drifted closed and she melted against him, not really thinking.

And that was where she went wrong. She wasn't thinking and, as she kissed him back, she missed the opening of the door in the room and she heard Snape's voice, deadly, cold, and furious.

"Miss Granger."

_Oh, bloody hell._

* * *

_Word Count: 355_

_A/N: A bit OOC, but I kind of failed with this one. I apologize... ^^ _

_-Des_


	70. Time

**Prompt Seventy: Time**

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**

Ginny, now thoroughly agitated, glared into the darkness around her, wondering why she hadn't lit her wand already. Jesus, did she hate this. The waiting. It was like this every night and, though she hated it, she knew that she couldn't change it. Hell, probably wouldn't because if she stopped this cycle of waiting in the dark corridors and empty classrooms, missing out on sleep, then that would mean that she couldn't see _him_.

Yes, _him_. Draco Malfoy, to be specific. Ginny shook her head and sank further down the wall, wrapping her arms around herself. Jesus, when had this happened? Four weeks ago she had despises Draco and wished for his death. Now she waited in abandoned classrooms for him to make his way out of his dormitory and find her. Now she passed notes with him, always keeping secret, and made out on a regular basis because she couldn't get enough of him.

Again: _When had that happened_? She couldn't even remember anymore. Everything blended together in her mind, the days running into each other until she didn't know which was which.

Ginny, her head aching, closed her eyes and buried further into her self. Time. It all came down to time. Upon occasion it seemed to pass by like lightning for her and other times it seemed to drag on and on, torturing her with each tick of the clock.

Now it rushed passed her, leaving her in a dazed state as she wondered where the days went. And where _had_ they gone, she wondered. She seemed to be in a dream-like state, everything passing by without really touching her.

She snorted. Never mind. She had definitely been touched all right. She rolled her eyes to herself and looked up at the soft creak of the old door. There stood Draco Malfoy.

She smiled and stood, pushing all thoughts of time from her mind because, really, what did it matter? She was here. It was now, the present. And, then, nothing else seemed to matter.

* * *

_Word Count: 363_

A/N: Shit. My endings are getting worse. -frowns- Ah, well, it is like, late for me. And I have started school, so everything is written sporadically. -grimaces-

Your sleepy author,

Willful Destruction


	71. Sorrow

**Prompt Seventy-One: Sorrow**

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**

As Draco Malfoy stared at the grave of Hermione Granger he waited for the guilt, the tears, the crippling despair to hit him. He waited to feel the sorrow he knew he should feel, the waterworks that should be coming any minute.

Any minute now... Any minute now...

Nothing came. He didn't feel any despair, self-hatred, tears... Nothing. He was empty except for maybe a small feeling of victory that he had finally bested her. Beat her at something – life. And, God, did that make him fucked up. Really, really fucked up.

He closed his eyes and shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

He was empty. He didn't feel anything, really. He was cold to the marrow and nothing could reach him through that block of ice that was his heart. Nothing. Not death, anger, guilt, sorrow – It didn't touch him. Just passed by as if he was simply watching it happen, not living it.

He opened his eyes and looked around at the deserted cemetery. Then he walked away, not sparing one last look at the grave. He was cold. He was empty. He felt nothing.

And he doubted that would change in the next few minutes.

* * *

_Word Count: 200, even._


	72. Take My Hand

_**Prompt Seventy-Two: Take My Hand**_

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**_

Narcissa slid down in the seat, feeling faint as the one and only man she had ever wanted to share company with stalked out the door. Lucius was her husband – had been for four long, tiring years – and still her refused her company and even her body.

She sighed and snatched the lapels of her robe together as tears slid down her cheeks. She hated this life she led. Sure, their marriage wasn't any sort of love-match but she knew many older couples that had been betrothed and they had children and got along fine.

But not for Narcissa. No, she got married to Lucius Malfoy and thrown into this hell of a life. Many people had envied her because Lucides and money, power, and status but they had never known the man for real, for what he was. They didn't realize that he was cruel and that his heart might as well be made of ice. Nobody saw the fact that he hated most everyone and only used them as stepping stones.

After her second year of marriage and still no children because had began to drift away, pitying her from a distance. Her friends left her, having had children and households to run. For all intents and purposes, Narcissa hwas left alone with the ghosts of the house. Nobody came to her. Nobody offered their hands, support, or even company.

She was wholly and completely alone.

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_Word Count: 245_


	73. Pulse

**Prompt Seventy-Three: Pulse**

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**

"W-what are y-you doing?" Hermione stuttered out, staring at Malfoy, terrified. He was too close. Much too close.

"Shh," he whispered, running his thumb across her jawline. "Just let me do everything."

Hermione swallowed. She could feel her pulse in her ears and her heart seemed to be skipping beats with each touch. She stared at him but he either didn't see the stares or decided to ignore them because he kept coming closer, pushing her against the wall and smirking.

"Let me do everything," he whispered again. And then he lowered his head and every bit of coherent thought left Hermione's mind.

* * *

_Word Count: 110_

_A/N: Jeez. Sorry. I literally JUST did this. I never write things like this... Hmph. Bleh. Sorry if it TOTALLY fails..._


	74. Illusion

**Prompt Seventy-Four: Illusion**

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**

"Malfoy! Weasley! Correction – Female Weasley!" Professor Snape called out, standing on the large table that served as the Dueling Club's stage.

Ginny rolled her eyes but didn't snark back at Snape. She was used to him pretending not to know her name. She drew her wand and climbed up on the table, glaring across it at Draco Malfoy, her arch-nemesis for all intents and purposes.

She was going to destroy him.

"Begin," Snape commanded, stepping aside so that they could duel.

Ginny smirked at Malfoy and raised her wand. A spell came spiraling at her and she quickly threw up a shield before it could hit her. _Ha. _Her plan was simple: dodge his spells enough to transform him into... _something_.

The _something_ wasn't specified yet, but that didn't really matter. She was good at transfiguration – best in her year – and making him a ferret again should be simple. She smirked to herself. Or maybe she should just turn him into a pig. Ferret was already used so repeating it might not be quite the victory but-

_Oh, shit._

And then Ginny Weasley was promptly turned into a snake.

* * *

_Word Count: 194_

_A/N: Eh. Sorry. This fails. -headdesk- This was meant to be much better but I really, really need to have this finished. I am attempting to catch up, so the next few drabbles might be like, shit. Sorry. ^_^;;_

_-Willful Destruction _


	75. Pillow

_**Prompt Seventy-Five: Pillow**_

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**_

_She was not going to cry. She was not going to cry. She was not going to cry. Oh, fuck it, she was crying. _

Hermione swallowed, trying to stop the tears that ran down her cheeks, and ran up the next few stairs, attempting to get away. She _had_ to get away. If not... If not he would see her and he would call her weak and pathetic.

She swallowed again. Oh, how she hated him. Hated how evil he was, hated how sick and twisted he seemed to be. Correction; how sick and twisted he _was_. There was no "seemed" about it.

In her daze of panic she stepped into a trick stair and felt her foot sink into it. She didn't bother yanking at it to get away. It wouldn't do anything for her. She was caught.

She sank down onto the step above it and dropped her head into her hands. Normally every time she cried it was just from stress and she was cuddling in her bed with her soft pillow and warm blankets. Then crying didn't matter.

But now it did because here she was, stuck in the stairwell, crying over Draco Malfoy because he was an ass. Ugh.

She swallowed again and raised up, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her robe. She needed to get out of here before Filch came past or Malfoy decided to be an ass and track her down, ready to laugh at her again.

Hermione sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. Malfoy had always laughed at her. He had always made fun of her hair being too fluffy or the fact that she was muggle-born. So why did it hurt now?

She rolled her eyes, now her mood shifting to being exhausted and irritated at herself rather than hysterical and depressed. She knew why it hurt now – because she had expected him to change this time. This time Hermione had expected him to change. But that was ridiculous. Malfoy couldn't change. He was too cold for that, too cruel.

Hermione smirked and pulled her wand out from her sleeve. But he would pay for humiliating her. It might have been private humiliation, him manipulating her when there was no audience but it was still humiliation and it hurt.

She muttered a spell that released her foot and quickly backed up the stairs, a small smile of satisfaction on her face.

But she would still get her revenge.

* * *

_Word Count: 398_

_A/N: Ugh. Dear God. _


	76. Free

_**Prompt Seventy-Six: Free**_

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**_

Narcissa smiled as she rested her arms on the balcony of her room and looked across the Malfoy Manor. The view was magnificent up here and she was pleased to have managed to sneak up to this level of the house.

Her smile grew sad and she appeared to age about twenty years. She sighed and closed her eyes, ignoring the dull ache in her chest. She was prisoner here in this manor, left to the company of the maids and occasionally her son when he came home for holidays. Lucius hardly ever came to her and when he did their conversations were always cold and strained, both of them wishing to be away from the other.

They had never been close. They had been betrothed and, though she had at first been amazed by his wealth and status, Narcissa wished it had never happened. She had known other couples who had been betrothed but they had been happy. Maybe not as happy as they could be but they were content with their lives and partners.

But not for her. No, she got Lucius Malfoy and was banished away in his many houses, expected to do something with herself while he was away. It made her sick, really, but she could do nothing against it. Didn't want too.

She did want her freedom but she knew that he was a Death Eater and she wasn't very much interested in being inquired upon, what with the upcoming war. So she stayed in the manor. She played the good little wife, instructed the maids and servants, made sure that their son was well.

She did her job, what was expected of her. She never fought Lucius or rebelled. She didn't see the purpose. She wasn't content but she wasn't exactly miserable. She was... she was fine.

But, still, the idea of leaving the manor for once seemed nice.

* * *

_Word Count: 321_

_A/N: Er... Not my worst, surely not my best. I haven't really done much with Narcissa. And I know that she does things and goes out, of course, but this is more based around right when the war is about to happen... or something. -headdesk- Gah._

_-Des_


	77. Joy

_**Prompt Seventy-Seven: Joy**_

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**_

Lupin looked down at the little boy he held in awe. _That's your son,_ he thought. His son.

The child was asleep but he turned over and his tiny hand reached out and held fast to Lupin's thumb.

Tears stung at his eyes.

Your son.

He swallowed and his body went suddenly rigid. Who was he to bring a son into this world, this war? He was a werewolf, the lowest of the low, the outcast. How could he be so –

"Lupin?" A hand pressed into his bad and a tired looking Tonks moved in front of him, staring down at her son just as he had been doing moments ago.

He swallowed again, bile rising in his throat. "Tonks . . ."

"What's wrong?"

Lupin shook his head slightly and stared down at his son. They'd decided to name him Teddy. He knew he should feel joy at the moment, pride but all he felt was fear. Fear and panic.

There wasn't any happiness for him, no pride for his son, for he was surely the last being on Earth worthy enough to have a son.

Once more, he swallowed back his panic and looked up at Tonks.

"Nothing."

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_Word Count: 205_


	78. Abandoned

_**Prompt Seventy-Eight: Abandoned**_

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**_

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes as tears ran down her cheeks unchecked. She felt exhausted, both mentally and physically. Her ankles, swollen from her pregnancy, ached and her joints all ached from working her shift at Honey duke's that day. Draco had been completely against her working while she was pregnant but, really, she needed to be away from his worrying every once in a while. Plus she wasn't quite ready to have him paying for everything.

She had a headache but that wasn't new – she always had one. Now it just seemed to be magnified by ten... or a thousand. She sighed again and opened her eyes. She was sitting on the black couch in her new home, a fabulous farm house in the middle of the country. Draco had protested at first, preferring something closer to the city, but in the end she convinced him that the country would be better for raising children.

Yes, _children_. Letting out a small breath, Hermione wondered again how this had happened. It was Draco Malfoy after all and she had hated him when she was seventeen and yet here she was, sitting in _his_ house, carrying _his_ child, waiting up for _him_ to get home.

She wasn't worried, really, just... shocked. She would have never in a million years thought that she would end up in this position and yet here she was, not regretting one second of it.

As she thought the words and felt a pang in her chest and she looked down as tears clouded her vision once more. She placed a hand on her swollen stomach.

She did regret her friend's reactions to her news. She did regret that they weren't grown up enough to support her when she needed it or even keep in touch. She had been completely and utterly abandoned because she was a hero of the war... marrying a Malfoy! A Death Eater! A traitor!

She shook her head in disgust and then tried clearing her mind of the the thoughts because none of it mattered now. She had to stop dwelling on the past and everything that had happened then because if she didn't she would fall and she would lose everything.

Hermione closed her eyes again, locking away each and every thought on the subject determined to be optimistic and not homesick. She couldn't be homesick. She had everything she needed there with her... right?

* * *

_Word Count: 398_


	79. Tower

**Prompt Seventy-Nine: Tower**

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**

The North Tower, Hermione thought, cursing loudly. She didn't _want_ to go to the North Tower, she thought, whining. It was oh-so-high and far away in the school and after a day of classes her legs and back hurt like hell. She wasn't in the best mood to go flouncing around the damn school, climbing multiple flights of stairs to get to a stuffy classroom with a constant fire despite the high temperatures.

Quite needless to say, Hermione was pissed off at anything and everything. It was one of _those_ days. The days were everything seemed to annoy her and everything was irritating. Nothing was right and the world totally failed.

_Ugh, _Hermione thought.

She hated Divination already.

* * *

_Word Count: 115_

_A/N: Total fail. Sorry. I apologize... a lot. ^^_

_-Desmia_


	80. Waiting

**Prompt Eighty: Waiting**

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**

Ginny sighed impatiently as she lounged on the black couch in her living room. Here she was, waiting... again. It had been like this for the last six months or so. She would wait for him – Draco Malfoy – to get back from whatever husbandly duties he had to fulfill and then he would come to her. They would hang out and play games or simply watch T.V. Sometimes they just talked about anything and everything.

Once Ginny had dared to kiss him and, though he was married, he has kissed her back and she was quite sure they would have made it to second base if she hadn't had to stop for breath. He had pushed her away, claimed they were just friends, and then he had left, leaving her to ponder the events.

_Friends_, she thought bitterly. That was what Draco always told her. He'd never wanted more out of her and on more than one occasion Ginny had gotten to breaking point, quite ready to snap when he denied her everything.

But she had waited him out. She'd been patient, not complaining, been content with being "just friends" but now... Now she was fed up with it. This game that he seemed to be playing with her, this teasing and taunting. She was sure he did it unconsciously but, damn, did she hate waiting.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath as she glanced at the clock. He was roughly two hours late. Again.

Ginny glared at the clock another minute, sighed, and left the room.

She was tired of waiting.

* * *

_Word Count: 368_


	81. Blood

**Prompt Eighty-One: Blood**

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**

Hermione Granger grimaced at needle being inserted into her vein. The hospital had told her it was customary for friends and family to give blood but that didn't mean she had to like it.

She swallowed, her vision swimming as she stared at the thick, red liquid being taken from her arm.

"All done," the nurse said, smiling at her. She quickly put a patch on her wound and gave her some apple juice. "Now sip this, hon, and then you'll be free to go."

Hermione nodded and dutifully sipped from the glass. Her stomach felt a bit better but, Jesus, did she have a headache. Her vision still swam.

She drained the rest of her cup and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She stared at the floor as her vision swam once more. She took a deep breath and then stood up on her shaking legs.

"Miss Granger... Miss Granger... Are you-"

Before the nurse could get her question out, Hermione toppled over, falling hard on her face as her legs gave out.

She had always hated blood.

* * *

_Word Count: 189_

_A/N: I would ask that you please ignore the shortness and overall failure of these next few drabbles. I am quite behind by my standards and I really, really want to manage to finish this drabble challenge. Please bear with me. _

_Thanks,_

_Desmia_


	82. Silence

_**Prompt Eighty-Two: Silence**_

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**_

Ginny shifted uncomfortably on her feet and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

She hated the silence between her and Draco. It was awful and uncomfortable, tense and awkward for her.

He was staring at her. Just. . . staring. . . right. . . at. . . her. . .

She shifted again, growing more uncomfortable by the second.

And then suddenly Draco dropped to his knees in front of her and said those four little she had never expected to hear.

"Will you marry me?"

* * *

_Word Count: 81_

_A/N: The cheesyness of this is. . . insane. Jeez. I am so sorry. . . *headdesk* _


	83. Noise

_**Prompt Eighty-Three: Noise**_

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As Hermione entered the Great Hall all the noise died down. Everyone quit speaking and their forks stopped midway on they way to their mouths. Everyone stared at her, shocked at the return of one of the war heroes.

She felt her cheeks redden and she shifted her book bag on her shoulder, competely embarrassed. She dropped her head, moving over to an empty spot on the Gryffindor table. The chatter in the hall started up again but Hermione could still feel them staring at her.

She had been one of the few people who had come back since the war ended. They were offered the chance to redo their last year at Hogwarts since they had missed out on it. It was optional of course, and Harry and Ron had opted out of coming back.

Hermione quickly pulled out one of her books and began reading but her mind was wandering. She, for once, was panicking about school. This year she didn't have her friends with her or the Weasleys. Well, she did have Ginny but she had her own crowd and her own friends to hang out with.

She'd honestly never felt more alone.

* * *

_Word Count: 200_

_A/N: Sorta shifted from the prompt here. Sorry... Hm. I sorta like this one. The ending could be better but whatever. Hope you enjoyed it. ^^_

_-Desmia_


	84. Standing Still

_**Prompt Eighty-Four: Standing Still**_

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**_

Hannah Abbott bit her lip and shifted from foot to foot, drawing her coat tighter around her body. Jesus, was it _cold_. She honestly hated Quidditch as it was but when they were considering canceling the match and forced thousands of people to sit around on the stadium in the fucking cold!

She gritted her teeth, irritated. _Ugh. _

"What are they _doing_?" Hannah bit out, leaning into her friend, James.

"No idea," he muttered, pulling her into his waist.

"I _hate_ Quidditch. I'm sick of standing around here. God, James, can't we just leave and order a pizza? This already fails anyway," she said pushing away from him and folding her arms across her chest.

"But... It's England!" James protested, his voice close to a whine. Hannah bit her lip and stared at him hard. He looked hopeful.

Hannah scowled but snuggled closer to him. She sighed again. "Fine... I hate this."

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_Word Count: 159_


	85. Treasure

_**Prompt Eighty-Five: Treasure**_

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Hermione cast a quick look around the dark, empty common room and smiled to herself. She had never really been embarrassed of herself. Occasionally Malfoy would make a comment about her hair or teeth and then there was that time when she turned herself into a cat but other than that, she had always been confident in everything she did.

Except _this_.

This was embarrassing to her and though she was positive that nobody would really care that she read those types of books but she had always taken special precautions to make sure that nobody ever, every found out.

Blushing in the dark she crept over to the far end of the common room and sat in one of the plush chairs there. Casting another wary look around the room she lit her wand. Then she reached into the folds of her robe and pulled out... her favorite romance novel.

It was her secret treasure.

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_Word Count: 232_


	86. Mother Nature

_**Prompt Eighty-Six: Mother Nature**_

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_London_, Hermione thought, grimacing at the city around her. It was all hustle and bustle – no quiet and no room to walk. Still grimacing, she weaved her way through the crowd.

Once when she had been eleven her parents had taken her on a trip to one of the more rural areas of England. They'd stayed with her aunt Marie for two weeks and she'd always, always loved it there. When she turned of age and the war ended she even considered moving out there but her job required her to stay in the city, so there she stayed.

Still, she'd always hoped for more trees, flowers, maybe a pond like her auntie had had. But no – London was a city through and through, all buildings and old sidewalks.

Frowning, she weaved her way down to the end of the block and took the steps two at a time when she reached her building. She quickly waved hello to a few people and then entered her office, shutting the heavy wood door behind her.

She dropped her bag by the end of her desk and then picked up her small, green plotted plant. She smiled to herself.

Her little slice of Mother Nature.

* * *

_Word Count: 205_

_A/N: I live in America, really, so I know nothing about London. Sorry if I totally botched this. _


	87. Obsession

_**Prompt Eighty-Seven: Obsession**_

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"I am _not_ going to obsess over this, Malfoy," Hermione said, glaring at the boy in front of her. She was dying to rush to the nearest girls bathroom, fix her hair, and check if her teeth really did make her look like a beaver. Of course these were not normal urges for one such as Hermione Granger who lived off of books and seemed to have a telepathic connection with the librarian but this time Malfoy had really stuck it to her and she had never felt more self-conscious in her life.

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy taunted her, sticking his face close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheeks. "I bet you're _dying_ to go find a bathroom right now. I bet you just can't _wait_ to fix your hair."

_Dammit_, Hermione thought. He had hit right on target. She had to admit it – he was good. He'd known just how to get at her.

She ground her teeth together and growled back, "Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Ferret." Then, smirking, she watched as he froze and glared at her. Hermione could image him hissing.

"Ha," she said, and, even though she knew she was going to run off as soon as she could and find the nearest bathroom, she felt as though she had won.

As she walked away she couldn't help but raise a hand to her hair and touch her curls. It was so tangled and curly and-

"Not going to obsess are we, Granger?"

God, did she hate him.

* * *

_Word Count: 262_


	88. Magic

_**Prompt Eighty-Eight: Magic**_

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"Clean up that room of yours, Ginny Weasley!"

"All right, mum!"

As she took the steps two at a time Ginny felt positively cheerful. Sure, she did have to clean her room and her mother was in a fowl mood and would criticize every little dust speck but that didn't matter. Why? Because she had _it_.

Her wand.

Smirking to herself, she pushed open her door. Her clothes were scattered on the floor, her shoes were sticking out from under the bed, her owl's cage needed serious cleaning, and she had to pack for her trip to Italy. Oh, and her socks _totally_ needed cleaning.

She flicked her wrist at the scattered clothes and they dropped themselves in the clothes basket by the door. She did the same with her socks. She then walked across the room to her owl's cage and flicked her wand, cleansing it of feathers and food. The shoes lined themselves by the dresser as the drawers shot open, revealing her clean clothes.

Ginny grinned as she heard her mother's footsteps.

"_I love magic."_

_

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_Word Count: 183_


	89. Multitasking

_**Prompt Eighty-Nine: Multitasking**_

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**_

Hermione groaned as she started down at her neat, color-coded to-do list. It was huge. Colossal. Gigantic. _Impossible to complete. _

Swallowing, she pushed the thoughts from her mind. She could get this done, she could get this done... All she had to do was finish her Potions essay while working on the project for Flitwick but the, of course, that wouldn't leave room for her _other_ Charms homework...

She groaned again and dropped her head into her hands. Hermione Granger – Miss Levelheaded-Goody-Two-Shoes-Always-On-Task-And-Capable-Of-Everything – was panicking over homework.

"Gah." She ran a hand through her thick curls, mentally cursing herself.

She had never been one for multitasking.

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_Word Count: 203_


	90. Relaxation

_**Prompt Ninety: Relaxation**_

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Harry Potter sighed deeply, rolling his shoulders back and trying to relax his muscles. It was the third game of the season and, even though England had won their last two games, he still felt stressed. He was completely tense and irritable, snapping at anyone and everything.

His couches, teammates, friends, and even opponents had told him the same thing – rest, relax, stop stressing, get away for awhile. They always told him that he wasn't ready to play again after his injury from the war and they were right but he never cared to listen.

It didn't _matter_. He was still going to play one way or another. He didn't care if Quidditch was the furthest thing from rest and relaxation. He was going to play.

_I'm going to play,_ he thought again as the referee blew her whistle, starting the game.

* * *

_Word Count: 143_

_A/N: Eh. Not much of a comment. I extremely dislike this prompt even though I know I could have done better with it. Sorry. ^^_

_-Desmia_


	91. In The Eye Of The Storm

_**Prompt Ninety-One: In the Eye of the Storm**_

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"At least I don't have an ego the size of fucking Europe!"

"Oh, yeah? Well you -"

And then it went on, and on, and on. Very little else in this particular argument is important other than the fact that the ending seems to be different. But don't worry. We'll get to that later.

Now we are focusing on the setting. Three students are sitting together, all very, very annoyed at one thing or another. The bushy-haired one is holding a book in her arms that she doesn't seem to be reading while the other two, a pale boy and a red-haired girl, scream at each other, faces inches apart. They are sitting by the lake and the sky is a dark gray. Storm clouds hang over their heads.

The bushy-haired one is known as Hermione Granger, the Bookworm. The red-head is called Ginny Weasley and the pale, thin boy's name is Draco Malfoy. The latter is yelling at the former, faces far too close together as they go at it. The third, Hermione, is glaring up at them, completely unamused. This has happened before and she is tired of it.

She glares around the lake, trying to control the rising anger and annoyance. Finally she snaps and slams her book shut. She pushes herself between their bodies, shoving them apart.

"_Look_," she says, her voice low and deadly. "I am trying to read but that is proving impossible with you two airheads yelling. Listen, you may think you're doing so well with the we-hate-each-other act but everyone can see right through it. Now get the hell out of one another's sight and stop arguing or, Ginny, go ahead and jump him. I don't care what you do but, either way,_ leave me the fuck out of it._"

And with that last statement she glared at them again and marched off to the school.

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_Word Count: 319_


	92. In The Moment

_**Prompt Ninety-Two: In The Moment**_

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_Her eyes were closed. She looked serene, at peace. A soft smile played at her lips and her hands moved up in a graceful arch as she moved her body in the steps of her favorite dance. _

_Her eyes flashed open and then suddenly she was –_

"Granger? Granger?"

"W-what?" Hermione's eyes flashed open – for real this time – and she fell off her perch on the edge of the chair. She hit the floor with a crash, confused and panicked.

"What were you _doing_?"

Hermoine frowned. She knew that voice. It was Draco – _Malfoy_. She righted herself on the floor and stared up at his pale face, trying to grasp at what was going on, why she was on the floor.

She looked down at the book in her hand and suddenly began blushing furiously.

"Just a bit caught in the moment, Malfoy."

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_Word Count: 179_


	93. Innocent

_**Prompt Ninety-Three: Innocent**_

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"What do you want, asshole?" Ginny said, sighing and raising an eyebrow at the blond boy across from her.

"Ooh. That hurts, Weasley," Draco said, raising a hand to his heart with a mock-hurt expression on his face.

She only continued to stare at him.

A sigh. "I need to know that you're innocent. Those girls didn't just drop dead and you were the last to be seen with Lucinda."

Ginny glared at him, considering him for hardly a second before she shot up from the table. "I am only going to say this once, Malfoy, so you better listen carefully."

He leaned in close and Ginny looked him dead in the eye, saying, "I. Did. Not. Murder. Anyone."

And then she was gone, leaving him leaning across an empty library table, alone with his thoughts, his suspicions.

* * *

_Word Count: 149_

_A/N: Sorry! This probably makes like, no sense, but whatever. I am writing a horror story (Be shocked. It was sort of a writing dare.), so that was on my mind when I started this. _

_-sighs- So close to the ending of this challenge. . . It's sad. _

_-Desmia_


	94. Trouble Lurking

_**Prompt Ninety-Four: Trouble Lurking**_

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"Why do you always have to try getting me in trouble?" Hermione asked, glaring at her current boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, angrily.

"Because you've got seventeen years of trouble to make up for," was the reply.

"I don't _need_ to get in trouble, Malfoy," she criticized, dropping her rag into the bucket. It made a soft splash and soap suds splashed out onto the table.

Hermione Granger was in detention – _detention_ – all because of Draco. He'd dragged her off to Hogsmeade after lights out and, of course, they'd been caught by Snape. Even Draco Malfoy couldn't scrape by without a detention when something such as this occurred.

"Perhaps not, _Granger_." He tossed her a smile from where he was cleaning the desks at the other end of the room – no magic. Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned back over the desk, resuming her cleaning.

Suddenly there was the soft sound of feet against the floor and then Draco tugged her away from the desk. She yelped, alarmed, as he refused to loosen his grip around her waist.

"What are you doing?"

"We, love, are ditching detention."

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_Word Count: 197_


	95. Working Together

**Prompt Ninety-Five: Working Together**

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"I am _not_ working with him!"

"You're not working with _me_? I'm not working with you, you little -"

"Malfoy, so help me God I will -"

"Will what, Granger? Going to bore me to death?"

"If it kills you then, yes!"

"Miss Granger, try not to threaten death or -"

"I'm sorry Professor Snape but -"

"'_I'm sorry Professor Snape but I'm such a good little-'_"

"Are you _mocking_ me, Malfoy?"

"What do you think, Granger? Use that -"

"_Silence! If you cannot work together -" _

"She's the problem, not me, Professor Snape!"

"What are -"

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had never worked well together.

* * *

**Word Count: **149


	96. World

_**Prompt Ninety-Six: World**_

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"Have you ever tried looking at the world through _their_ eyes?" Hermione said softly, appearing on the balcony beside him. She didn't look at him, preferring to stare down at the Muggle city below them.

"Why would I?" Draco countered.

"Because, Draco, you have such a passionate outlook on the Muggles and their world and their personalities but you've never taken a minute to even _talk_ to them." She paused here, biting her lip thoughtfully before choosing her next words. "They're people. They have laws, opinions, thoughts, morals, ethics, et cetera. They're important. Why do you hate them?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "They're destroying the world with their cars and their cities," he finally replied.

"And we're not?" she challenged.

"No."

"What about all the magic we throw into the air? All the places we've set on fire through our wars. And what about the Muggles we've killed and not cared? How is that fair? If you're so damn worried about the world then hold yourself accountable," she shot back.

He stayed silent.

"Give them a chance, Malfoy. Don't be so damn stubborn. Try looking at everything from their point of view." She patted his arm. "Or take Muggle Studies. It's fascinating, really. Did you know that -"

"You can leave now, Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes, muttered something back at him, and then flounced out of the room. Draco watched her go and then turned back to the skyline that he had been staring at for the last half hour.

As he was looking around something caught his eye – a folded piece of parchment laying on the stone where Hermione had been standing moments ago. Draco's eyes narrowed and he reached out for it. He quickly unfolded it and read:

**Muggle Studies Classes**

**Tuesday, 4:00 P.M. – 5:00 P.M.**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**Room 293**

He scoffed. He was not going to do this. He was not going to – oh, fuck it. He folded the parchment and shoved it into his pocket. He was doing it.

_Fucking Granger._

_

* * *

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_Word Count: 355_

_A/N: Meh. The beginning was a little... eh. And I totally failed at the sign up sheet thing-y but we'll ignore that, yeah? _

_-Desmia_


	97. Marriage

_**Prompt Ninety-Seven: Marriage**_

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"Forty years of marriage," Hermione said softly, reaching out and taking Ron's hand between her two. As she stared at her hands she began to see how wrinkled they had grown, how much she had aged. Tears rimmed at the corners of her eyes.

"I thought it was thirty. . ." Ron replied. Hermione rolled her eyes and chucked softly. Ron was dozing off, his eyes drifting closes and his body going lax as he eased into his recliner.

"It's been forty, Ronald. Remember when -"

"Mhmmm. . ." Ron muttered, cutting off her story. Once again, Hermione rolled her eyes and she thought about how many times she had repeated that action over the years, how many times she had yelled or how many fights they'd gotten into.

"Ronald do you ever -"

He was _asleep_.

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Happy anniversary."

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_Word Count: 159_


	98. Fighting

_**Prompt Ninety-Eight: Fighting**_

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"Is the fighting over?" he croaks out, the speaking putting a strain on his badly damaged body.

"Yes," she replies, running her fingers through his messy hair. Tears stream down her cheeks. She winces as he jerks and hisses out at the burns on his chest.

Silence.

"Did we win?" he asks, fear and doubt clear in his voice.

"Yes, we won. We won," she says, distracted as she motions a medic over to his bleeding body.

Slowly his hand reaches out for hers, his fingers growing cold.

"I love you," he says.

And then, though Hermione Granger didn't know it just then, Ronald Weasley had just left the world.

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_Word Count: 91_

_A/N: Thoughts? Opinions? Questions? Concerns? Click The Review Button._

_-Desmia_


	99. Time of My Life

_**Prompt Ninety-Nine: Time of My Life**_

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"Are you scared?"

"No."

"How can you not be?"

"I've lived, hon."

"You're only. . ."

"Seventy-three."

"Oh."

"I love you."

"I know."

"I'm ready to go. I'm not scared."

"I know. You're never scared."

"That's not true."

Silence.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"I can talk to you through portraits."

"But you won't be there."

"Yes I will."

"Not really."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"When will it happen, auntie?"

"It's a disease, so a few days, four at most."

"I hate this."

". . . I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"I should go."

Silence.

"Probably."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

With those words spoken, Marian leaves Hermione's bedside, letting the next relative take her place as she treasures the last memories she will ever have of her aunt.

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_Word Count: 172_

_A/N: I am probably the only one to understand how this fits the prompt, but still. . . Here goes drabble 100. _

_-Desmia_


	100. Old

_**Prompt One-Hundred: Old**_

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"I'm old," Hermione whispered, staring into the mirror of her simple bathroom. She was sixty now with wrinkly skin, dulled eyes, and fading hair. She had long since retired into a small house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade where she wrote books and spent the rest of her days reading the time away.

The war had ended forty-two years ago and now it seemed that it was merely a fairytale to the new generation. The stories and true horrors of it had grown old and people had substituted the real facts for their own. People still came and knocked on her door, wanting to know how the defeat of Voldemort had come about but the stories had grown old, even to her. Half the time she wanted to forget it all.

Tears suddenly stung at her eyes as a bout of nostalgia hit her. Her visits with Harry and the Weasleys had become more infrequent as they had all grown old and led their own lives. It was a whole new generation now. She recognized so much of herself in them – the wild adventurous urges, the curiosity at _everything, _the sneaking around and hiding from teachers.

In a way she missed it all –

A knock at the door interrupted her thought process and she frowned. Moving out of the bathroom she dimly heard, "Grandma?" through the thick wood of her door. Smiling, she wiped away her tears and opened the door. Her granddaughter stood there, a book bag slung over her shoulder, her hair swept up in a messy bun.

"Daphne," she said, smiling. "Come in."

"Thanks, Grandma."

All thoughts of being old and every bit nostalgia left her as she stared at her granddaughter. Suddenly it hit her – it didn't matter that she was old. It didn't matter that she was no longer in the spotlight, the one making the fame and history. It didn't matter because her time was over. She would have to be content with wasting her time away in her little house, writing and reading books.

"Grandma? You there?"

"Oh – what? Yes, yes. Just thinking."

Daphne laughed. "Aren't you always?"

* * *

_Word Count: 367_

_A/N: Wow. It's. . . over. OVER. I can honestly say that this has been fun. Yes, I know that that seems very contradictory considering the fact that I complained like hell through the whole thing and many times I considered quitting the challenge completely but it is true. I have loved most of this, though the ending is probably the best part. XD_

_Thank you all who have read this from the beginning and thank you all who will read this in the future. This has been an incredibly interesting experience and, after ninety-nine days of hell, I can proudly say that I have written one-hundred. _

_Love,_

_Desmia_


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